


A Nonsensical Turning Point

by allie_bo_ballie



Series: ANTP [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Abortion, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allie_bo_ballie/pseuds/allie_bo_ballie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>future!fic where both Blaine and Kurt have their own way of dealing with and preparing for a surprise that has come sooner than expected. (Implied abortion not related to Klaine).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.n, 2012-2013. Not always Rachel friendly (got yelled at about that).

[xoxo]

“Blaine Anderson!” 

Blaine awoke with a jerk, choking on a snore. “Huh, what?” He pushed up on his elbows, his pillow quietly slipping over the edge of the bed. “Kurt?” Blaine croaked out hesitantly from where he was kneeling in the middle of the bed, back arched tight as he held in a breath. He flinched when the room suddenly flooded with a bright light, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. 

“Look what you've done.” Kurt stood in the doorway of their bedroom, the hem of his blue t-shirt bunched up under his armpits. Blaine poorly attempted to hide a proud grin by busying his mouth with a yawn. Kurt scoffed, hands gesturing wildly at his distended abdomen. “I can't hide _this_ , not anymore.” Blaine sat back, legs swinging out in front of him. 

“I thought we agreed to only keep quiet till you got through the first trimester.” Kurt was nearly two and a half weeks into his second trimester, and Blaine was positively bursting at the seams to finally announce the news to their friends and family that they were expecting. “Kurt,” Blaine sighed out in a disappointed tone. Silent responses were never encouraging. Kurt slowly shuffled forward, loosening the drawstring of his cream-colored pajama bottoms with one swift tug. With each step, the waistband slipped lower and lower down his hips.

“I know, but come on.” Kurt's arms dropped down to his sides, fingers restlessly flexing in and out. “I've got three months left in this internship, and I really want the job.” He pursed his lips together, dark thoughts creeping through his mind. He was totally going to be looked over in favor of stupid Janice, his frizzy-haired co-intern and unworthy rival, and her vacant uterus. He looked up from pouting at the carpeted floor to find Blaine watching him with a fond, yet exasperated expression.

“But come on, sweetheart. Really? You're not going to be any less pregnant in three months. In fact...” Blaine rolled his eyes as he trailed off, puffing out his cheeks. An indignant squeak erupted from the back of Kurt's throat, and he gritted his teeth. He scrambled to pick up Blaine's discarded pillow from the ground, hissing out as he swung it at his fiancé's head. Blaine rolled onto his side, his cheek pressed into the mattress. “I'm not wrong,” he laughed out from under the pillow. 

Kurt laid back on the bed, sock-clad feet hanging over the side, and pulled his shirt down over his stomach. He blew air out at a white feather as it gracefully floated above them, fingers drumming around his navel. His top teeth grazing over his bottom lip, he cringed as he replayed their conversation in his head. “I really wanted the job,” he corrected after a moment of comfortable silence; he hoped the admittance would clean out the bad taste from his mouth. The pregnancy hadn't been planned, but it wasn't unwanted. “We'll be in Lima for Christmas in two weeks.” He lazily poked at Blaine's backside. “I'd really like to see their reactions, especially my dad's. Is that OK?”

“Of course, silly.” Blaine shoved the pillow off his head, and shifted onto his side so that he was facing Kurt. “I think framed sonogram pictures would make an excellent stocking stuffer for the grandparents, don't you?” He rested his hand over Kurt's stomach, fingers splayed. “Oh, and this is barely a post-Thanksgiving dinner bloat. I think you could easily continue getting away with well-positioned scarves until after the New Year.”

“I could, yes.” Kurt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of scarves. I'm tired of strategizing with layers to hide my muffin top, and it's so stuffy at the office. I was close to glistening last week, and it was on the one day where Janice managed to tame her Irish 'fro, and I can't have her looking better than me.” 

There were many things that Kurt had just said that Blaine wanted touch upon with more detail (“Muffin top”? “Glistening”? He wondered if, instead of the “Everyone Poops” book, he could get Kurt a copy of “Everyone Perspires”), but he was more worried about what Kurt hadn't said. “Are you... Kurt, please tell me you're not saying you want to tell work before family about the baby.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, appearing mildly offended. "What? No, no way. What I'm saying is, quite simply, that I'm not going to hide this—" He pointedly caressed his fingertips down the back of Blaine's hand. "—anymore. I'll just go without official confirmation of my expectant status until after the holidays. I imagine there will be assumptions made to and behind my back, but whatever. Let 'em talk, you know?" The corners of his mouth tugged down sharply when Blaine chuckled.

“You mean to get them talking, right? You don't fool me, Mr. Hummel, I see that brainstorm brewing behind your eyes.” Blaine leaned in for a kiss, eyes closed, and slid his hand up Kurt's chest. “Your gorgeous eyes,” he sighed into Kurt's mouth once he parted his lips. Kurt hummed contently, mouth opening up enough for Blaine's tongue to slip inside, and—Blaine pulled back abruptly, snorting out a loud laugh. “What the hell were you eating?” He cupped a hand to Kurt's warm cheek, pressing their foreheads together after Kurt pushed weakly at his shoulder. 

“I can't help it. I sometimes get cravings that even you can't satisfy,” Kurt mumbled out in an attempt to speak without separating his lips too much. 

“That is because I'm not a big 'n spicy taco.” There was a joke at the tip of his tongue about how he wouldn't be surprised if their baby was born all bundled up in a tortilla shell with extra sour cream on the side, but Blaine was wary about how close Kurt's knee was to his crotch. Kurt took his Mexican food very seriously, even at... His back muscles ached in protest as he twisted around awkwardly to glance at the time. “Are you kidding me? It's three in the morning, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded his head, the tip of his nose skimming across Blaine's. “It is,” he confirmed in a 'thank you, Captain Obvious' tone. “I heard it's, like, fact that re-heated leftovers taste best at 2:30 A.M.”

“That sounds like something Finn would say.” Blaine hummed, mostly to himself, and looked puzzled. _Oh where, oh where has my little Kurt gone, oh where oh where can he be?_

“Who do you think told me?”

After a few (and then a “few more”) kisses and a grumbled complaint from Blaine about how he had to get up in two hours to work a seven to seven shift, they settled under the covers. It wasn't long until the small room was filled with Blaine's soft snores. Lying stretched out on his back, Kurt chewed absently at a thumbnail. He frowned when he realized what he was doing— _since when do I bite my nails?_ But rather than stopping, he bit down harder. 

_You can do this_. He mentally prepared his outfit for work, suddenly unsure if the fluttering in the pit of his stomach was from nerves or nausea. _You have to_. 

[xoxo]

Blaine sat crossed-legged on a computer chair at the nurse's station in the Emergency Department, sipping on cold coffee while updating a patient's medication list in their chart. He sighed loudly against the stained rim of the Styrofoam cup, glancing sideways when he felt a pair of eyes boring into him. Perched on a nearby stool, Santana read from a gossip magazine stolen from the waiting room and had it opened on her lap atop a blank chart. “What?”

“I thought you were supposed to turn into a zombie after the baby's born, not before.” She flashed a wicked smile at him, her eyebrows quirking up. “Unless it's the pregnancy hormones keeping you up, hmm?” She squinted at him, pushing off a cluttered desk to wheel herself closer, and frowned. “Nah, that ain't the face of a guy who was up all night gettin' some.”

He dropped his pen, flustered, and looked around for anyone who might've overheard. The closest person to them was a hospital volunteer, Becky, who was busily stapling insurance packets together. Blaine turned back to Santana, barely dodging a razor-sharp eyeroll that was thrown at him. 

“Seriously? You gays—” She shook her head to the side, and Blaine swore he heard the rattle of a loose screw, “guys are still keeping it on the DL? Way to give your fetus a complex.”

Blaine's eyelid twitched. He leaned forward on his elbows, fingers clasped together. “I should never have told you.” He tilted his head back, concentrating his weary gaze at the ceiling to avert any eye contact with Nurse Medusa over to his right. 

“Don't discredit me, Anderson. I found out on my own, remember?” He didn't need to look at her to know she was wearing one hell of a smug smirk. “I am the Latina Sherlock Holmes, bitch. You can't hide anything from me.”

“Eavesdropping on my private conversation with Dr. Fabray hardly—” All it had taken was one throwaway line from Kurt's doctor for Santana's jaw to drop. Having had made an incorrect assumption, she'd kept quiet for two days with her head cocked to the side and glossed lips pursed pensively as she checked Blaine out from every angle. The only thing she had been able to decide on, for fuckin' sure, was that his scrubs were much too loose-fitting. “I can't take it!” She'd finally snapped at him in the middle of a shift, “you knocked up or not?” He had refused to deny or confirm anything for over a week, but she'd finally ended up spotting him in a bar with a beer to his lips. 

Santana flicked at his earlobe, smiling when he blindly swatted at her hand. “Boy, you trippin'. There's no such thing as a 'private conversation' in an elevator.” She picked up his discarded pen, clicking the ink cartridge in and out of its plastic shell. “So, like, what's the deal? You're keeping it, right? It's definitely too late to 'nip it in the bud,' but does Kurt know that?” Blaine's head whipped to the side, jaw clenched. Santana quickly moved back in her chair, the pen slipping out from between her fingers.

“Do you—?” He snapped out as she defensively stated, “I didn't mean—” Becky looked up from her twin piles of stacked paper, her eyes darting nervously from one nurse to the other before she hesitantly held up a stapler.

“I'm out,” she told them, waving the stapler for emphasis as she verified, “of staples.”

“Then we'll go get you some,” Blaine forced out in a too-cheerful tone with one hell of a strained smile, his nostrils flaring. He wrapped his fingers around Santana's wrist, pulling her up with him when he jumped to his feet. Santana bowed her head, chin tucked to chest, and nosily shuffled her feet as she was dragged into a supply closet at the end of the corridor. The heavy door clicked shut behind them. 

“Why would you even say that?” He demanded to know, a mixture of anger and annoyance brightly flickering in his eyes. Blaine had gotten to know Santana pretty well after two years of working with her, and had also gotten used to brushing off her remarks. She liked to press buttons, liked to see what exactly it took to set people off. “You need to stop pretending that you know everything.”

“Um, no.” She pursed her lips, hands on her hips. “I don't 'pretend.' What I do is what I've always done, and that is call things how I see 'em. The way I'm seeing things right now? You're crawling out of your skin to celebrate your impending doom—uh, fatherhood, while your mutant boyfriend tries to be discreet by hiding his shame under obnoxiously loud accessories. I mean, really?”

“I guess this is my fault for expecting you to care about or remember something that wasn't about you. My fiancé's sister-in-law miscarried days after we got the excited 'guess what?' phone call from his brother last year.” Blaine wished he had felt a twinge of satisfaction when Santana's face softened. She turned her shoulders away, hands clasped behind her back. She kept her chin up high, but her body language expressed exactly what she felt: defeat at an uncomfortable level. He continued, needing to say it out loud, needing for her not just to hear—but to listen. “He isn't ashamed, he's... cautious, afraid, and I'd say he's allowed to be without getting judged for it.” She flinched when Blaine clapped his hands together. “So, yeah, Santana. We're 'keeping it.'”

Santana blinked rapidly, face carefully blank. “OK.” She snatched a small box off a shelf, slipping it into her cherry red scrub top's side pocket. “OK,” she snappishly repeated at Blaine's raised eyebrows look. “I'm...” Santana shook her head, her long ponytail swaying back and forth. “I'll watch how I... word myself around you for now on,” was her attempt at an apology. “What more do you want from me?”

“Uh, I'd actually prefer for you to watch how you... 'word yourself' around Kurt. He has too much on his plate as it is, he doesn't need your tasteless jokes.” The abortion reference had left him feeling sick; a “what if” had tapped him on his shoulder. What if Kurt had wanted to terminate the pregnancy? He didn't even know how to respond to that thought, other than to push it away, far away. “Just tone it down, okay?”

“He doesn't even know that I know! Fine, whatever, but he's going to know that I know if I tone this—” She proudly gestured herself from head to toe, toe to head, “down. For real, you know what I'm sayin'? But yeah, 'K. I got you, you got me. We good now?”

“For the—” He was interrupted by the sound of a pager going off. While Santana patted her pockets, Blaine clipped the beeping device off his pants. “It's me... it's the front desk, what? I don't even have...” He trailed off, biting down on the inside of his cheek, and then hurried out of the small room without saying anything else. 

Blaine swore he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Kurt standing at the nurse's station, face pale and his eyes tinged red. He broke out into a run, barking at Santana to grab a wheelchair. He couldn't close the distance between him and Kurt fast enough. Kurt must've agreed; he grabbed at Blaine's shoulders once he was in arms reach, his face crumpling. 

“Blaine, I've had—” 

Blaine clutched at the thick lapels on Kurt's winter jacket. “Becky, page Dr. Fabray now.”

Kurt paused to squint, a fat tear sliding down his cheek, and sniffed. “What? I'm—” He squeaked when Santana rolled a wheelchair behind him, the edge of the seat knocking into the back of his knees. He fell back, two sets of hands easing him down into the chair. He shook his head frantically, jaw slack enough for his mouth to form an angry 'o' shape while a deep 'v' settled in-between his drawn-together eyebrows. “Oh, this is ridiculous.” 

“Kurt, baby, I need you to—” Blaine had kneeled down, snapping his fingers at Santana without looking at her for the stethoscope peeking out of one of her many pockets. Kurt crossed one leg over the other, calmly holding up a finger to Blaine's face. 

“I just threw up in a wastebasket during a very important lunch meeting, Blaine.” Fighting back a new round of tears, he closed his eyes. All it'd taken was one whiff of Janice's lunch, a pint of chicken and broccoli, to send him scrambling across the conference room. He'd barely made it to the trash receptacle in time, and Kurt now found himself wishing he could permanently delete the memory. Or, while he was wishing, for it not to have happened at all. “Ask me how my day was.” Kurt opened his eyes when Blaine hooked his index finger around his own, still pointed upward, hope and dread darkly etched across his facial features.

“You're not—?”

Kurt shook his head once, slowly. “No, no I'm not. I'm OK, just humiliated.” He hitched his shoulders up into a tight shrug. “Nothing new, right?” He looked down, covering his other hand over his eyes. The tips of his ears were pink, and Blaine guessed it wasn't just from the cold weather. “I vomited in front of my boss and my boss' boss, Blaine.”

“I'm going to go make sure none of my patients have fallen and can't get up.” Santana may or may not have mumbled “again” as she locked the brakes on Kurt's wheelchair. She was quick to walk away, stopping briefly only to slide the box she'd taken from the supply closet at Becky, who instantly frowned. 

“Those are pushpins.”

“Close enough,” was the only response Santana threw over her shoulder. 

Blaine kissed the tip of Kurt's finger, not seeing or hearing anything or anyone else around him. Nothing else mattered. “I'm sorry,” he said through a sigh that morphed into a yawn. “Sorry, I'm...” He trailed off when Kurt leaned to the side.

“Quinn!” He greeted, and Blaine's eyes widened. He stood up, pausing mid-way for two seconds to brush off his knees, and spun around. Quinn was standing behind him, breathless but without a single strand of blonde hair out of place. Her green eyes danced wildly as she quickly attempted to intrepret their facial expressions and body language. 

“Dr. Fabray!” Blaine slipped Santana's bright pink stethoscope around his neck.

“I was paged.” Her uncertain tone nearly formed her statement into a question. Kurt grunted, pushing himself out of the wheelchair. He moved as if he were closer to nine months pregnant, not four. Deft fingers worked at unbuttoning his jacket, and Blaine grinned when it slipped off his shoulders. All Kurt had worn to work was a form-fitting vest over a white t-shirt and pin-striped dress slacks. He looked great, if a little undressed for December.

“That was for me. I'm here to hit my favorite doctor up for some drugs.” He waved his hand dismissively at the face Blaine pulled. “I need something for the nausea again, Quinn. It's worse than ever. I can't eat, look at, or smell Chinese take-out ever again.” No Chinese food... 'Ever again'? Blaine felt a little piece of him die inside after hearing those words. 

Blaine cleared his throat. “Kurt threw up in a room full of god-like superiors.”

“And an inferior.” Kurt sourly guessed Janice would bring chicken and broccoli for lunch every goddamned day until The Decision was made. He would definitely need to load up on the anti-nausea medication to get through the next few weeks. Kurt was starting to look forward to their Lima, OH getaway over the holidays. It was a much-needed break for the both of them. 

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, continuing to watch Kurt closely. “I'll have my nurse call it in to your pharmacy, but why don't you come upstairs with me while you're here? I'd like to look you over first—” She matched Kurt's arched eyebrow. “I don't just... hand out prescriptions, you know. I'm a real doctor now, Kurt.”

“A 'real' doctor compared to when you were... a fake doctor?” Blaine dared to question, earning a solemn head shake from Kurt.

“Blaine,” he lightly chided with smiling eyes, “we do not question each others' pasts.” Blaine was relieved to see how much Kurt had calmed down. “So, Quinn, all I have to do is let you feel me up in exchange for the drugs? I'm down for that.”

“I thought you'd be. I do suppose—” She looked at the time on her wristwatch. “—I'll have time for an ultrasound if we walk quickly. You up for seeing the little imp who's causing all your ailments?” 

Kurt immediately perked up, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet and back. “Really?” As if he'd turn down an opportunity to spy on the fetus occupying his uterus (or, as he'd read Santana refer to it as in a “private” text to Blaine, a 'man-uterus' slash 'muterus'). He held out his hand for Blaine to take, frowning when all he felt was air between his fingers. “Blaine?” 

“I can't, I'm working.” On the brink of frustration, Blaine gestured the environment they were in as a reminder.

“Oh, just go.” Santana popped up next to him, bumping her hip into his as she stole back her stethoscope. “I'll cover you as long as you admit to having a very private conversation in a very public place 'cause I don't want you blaming me for all the congratulatory back slaps you're going to get when you come back down, mmk?” She eyed Kurt's stomach, corners of her mouth twitching. “And as long as you get him out of here before one of them screamin' buttons bust off and hit someone in the eye 'cause damn.”

Kurt rolled his eyes while Quinn scolded Nurse Lopez for her lack of professionalism. He smiled when Blaine took his hand, and brought it up to kiss his knuckles. He blushed, the tips of his fingers brushing down the strained buttons on his vest. They poked out at odd angles, the sleeveless garment obviously too tight. Looking down, Kurt sighed. “Look what you've done.” 

Blaine grinned, all happy and relaxed. “I know, look.”

[xoxo]

Blaine tiredly stumbled through their apartment door at twenty after eight that night. He'd stayed an hour late to make up for the time he'd spent with Kurt at their impromptu appointment with Dr. Fabray. He leaned his shoulder into the wall for support, eyes half-lidded as he untied his damp boots. He pushed down his scrub pants, the bottoms soaked up past the calf from a recent snowfall, before setting foot on the carpet. Blaine called out Kurt's name, carelessly balling the article of clothing up in-between his hands. 

He found Kurt standing in front of the mirror in their bathroom, his hair pushed out of his face with an elastic headband. Kurt's face was thickly coated in a paste-like substance that only reminded Blaine of the makeshift meringue mask the title character in Mrs. Doubtfire comically wore. He chuckled, quckly distracted from the face mask by Kurt's clothing choice for the evening. “Oh my stars and garters, Kurt Hummel is wearing scrubs.” The bottoms to a navy blue set, at least. It still counted, though. “This is you giving into my Dr. Hummel fantasy, right?”

Kurt met Blaine's gaze over his shoulder in the mirror as he stepped up behind him. “Not in any mood for Blainenanigans right now.” While dabbing more cream onto his chin and t-zone, he complained about how the majority of his pants were starting to get “too,” too tight in the thigh and waist area. Blaine guessed he must have been planning out his “I'm still more fabulous than you” post-barf incident outfit for tomorrow, and the realization that he was almost sixteen weeks pregnant finally rained down on him. Kurt's designer clothes usually ran small, so this was an issue Blaine had already been waiting (read: dreading) for. “I can live through...” He straightened his posture, pausing long enough for a second breath, “what happened today, but I refuse to split my pants open in front of these people.” 

Blaine's hands rested on Kurt's hips from behind. “You are amazing.” He upped himself on his toes, lips finding their way to Kurt's neck. “I love you,” he said against the soft skin. Blaine kissed his neck, hooking his thumb into the collar of Kurt's shirt to stretch it out for better access. Hearing Kurt's breath catch in his chest, he tightened his grip, and broke away to pant into Kurt's shoulder when he pushed his hips back into him. He gently sucked at the skin below his ear, following an open-mouthed kiss with a wet nip. He grinned when he heard the little gasping noises Kurt was making. “Really?” He asked, smug. 

“Oh, shut up. I'm... god, Blaine, don't stop.” He placed his trembling hands over Blaine's, impatiently guiding them under his shirt and upward. “I'm sensitive, OK, like overly. I nearly came just from zipping up my pants this morning.” When the pads of Blaine's fingers roughly rubbed over his nipples, Kurt ground his hips back again. Blaine stumbled, knocked off balance, and pulled Kurt with him. Frustrated, he pushed out of Blaine's arms, and leaned over the sink, bracing himself against the counter. “Come on, just... give it to me.”

“Really?” Blaine asked again, less smug. He swallowed thickly, anticipation stirring in the pit of his stomach. Kurt hadn't given him a chance to 'top' in at least two months, not since they found out about the pregnancy. Despite feeling like the row of vanity lights above them were beaming down on him like a spotlight, Blaine licked his lips. Quick and brief, his hands dropped down to press against Kurt's lower abdomen before trailing behind to his back. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tugging the scrub pants down past the curve of Kurt's ass. 

“Oh!” Kurt suddenly hopped back, accidentally stepping on Blaine's foot. He rubbed his hands soothingly over where Blaine's hands had been before they'd moved south. “I felt something.”

The same stab of fear that Blaine had felt when he'd seen Kurt in the ER earlier that day split through his gut. “Pain? Was it sharp or—” Kurt shook his head, but tears still sprung to his eyes. That hadn't helped to ease Blaine's worry.

“It wasn't pain, definitely not pain.” Kurt glanced down at his stomach, his thumb and index finger forming a 'C' around his navel as his fingers protectively curled inward. “It was bubbly, definitely bubbly.”

Blaine mouthed, “bubbly?” He asked, confused, “like movement?” and then, in awe, “you felt the baby move?”

“I guess, maybe?” Having forgotten about the face mask, Kurt scratched at his cheek. It was drying along the edges, and had messily crumbled where his fingernails had dug in. He surged forward, throwing his arms around Blaine, pants still pulled down to reveal his derriere. Hugging back with one arm, Blaine used his free hand to hitch the scrubs up and over. “That's good, right? I mean, it wasn't at all strong, but I definitely felt something. Is that OK? Should I call Quinn? I'm going to call Quinn.”

“Whoa, there. Kurt, Kurt, no. Don't—” Blaine's reflexes were tested when he had to grab hold of Kurt's wrists to keep him from rocketing out of the bathroom. He instantly let go when Kurt winced, even though he knew his loose grip hadn't been the cause. Kurt's shoulders sagged, and he cupped his hands over his mouth. Blaine went from shaking his head to nodding it, “it's good.” He turned away to hastily grab a damp washcloth off the counter. “It's very good,” he promised as he gently pressed a corner of the small cloth to Kurt's nose.

Kurt softly uttered, “I felt our baby.” His eyes widened. “Blaine, I felt our baby move.” He'd gone from sounding weak, uncertain, and surprised to strong, sure, and amazed. Kurt abruptly laughed, loud and happy, and held a hand to his stomach. That was enough to tell Blaine that he'd felt the sensation again. Blaine continued to wipe the hardening goop off Kurt's face, his mouth splitting into a goofy grin. “I'm telling you, it's bubbly. Like he or she's blowing bubbles in there.” 

“Oh? Should we ask Dr. Fabray to look around for a straw in there during the next ultrasound?” He teased, pushing up on the balls of his feet to kiss the tip of Kurt's crinkled nose once he'd cleaned off enough gunk to spot skin. “You know, pretty soon they're going to be able to tell us what the sex is.”

“I know.” Kurt brushed him off sharply, although not unkindly, and took the washcloth out of Blaine's hand. He moved towards the sink, turning on the faucet. “You want it to be a surprise, I know. Me too.” He bent over to splash his face with lukewarm water, his shirt riding up in the back. At Blaine's very loud sigh, he laughed. “Get out of here, shoo.” He reminded him that the fall season finale of the television show they liked on Showtime was on in twenty minutes. “Go make us a snack.”

“But my snack's right here.” Kurt's hand stilled from patting at his cheeks, most of the homemade face cream washed off. Blaine folded an arm behind his head, a hand kneading at the back of his neck. He scrunched up his nose. “Did I really just say that?” Kurt shut off the water.

“You really just did.” He reached for a folded hand towel, fat drops of water dripping off his chin. He turned around, holding the towel over his face. “I'll forgive you for objectifying my ass if you forgive me for what you're about to see.”

Blaine's nose remained frozen in the “scrunched up” state. “What are you talking about?”

“OK, well. I noticed it this morning, but it wasn't so bad, so I covered it up, but now it has decided to hulk out, and refuses to be concealed,” Kurt rushed out in one breath. He slowly lowered the towel, stopping below his eyes. “It's angry, Blaine.”

Blaine tried again. “What are you talking about?”

“Gosh, get with it.” He threw down the hand towel, stomping a foot. He gestured his face, finger pointing at an inflamed spot. “I have a zit!” Yeah, he should've left when Kurt gave him an out. “I never break out, ever. My skin has always been flawless, but as of lately—” Kurt's mean scowl was taken over with a smile. No, really. He'd stopped mid-rant to smile broadly. He waved his hand, “never mind. I can't rage when I feel... bubbles.”

“Right, of course not.” Blaine sounded out “bubbles,” staring down blatantly at Kurt's stomach. He wanted to do nothing more than push him down on the couch, to lie with his face squished against Kurt's warm belly. All while, he imagined, getting crumbs in his hair from Kurt as he munched on whole grain saltine crackers smeared with organic peanut butter. He'd seen the opened box and half-empty jar on the coffee table when he'd gotten in. After a long day, with another just hours away, that was exactly what he needed. 

And, minus the crumbs, that was what he got. Kurt played with his hair, instead, and he'd fallen asleep with his ear pressed to Kurt's navel. The intro to the local ten o'clock news woke him up, and he listened through the first segment before peppering Kurt's stomach with kisses. He scooted lower, urging Kurt's knees to spread farther apart by gently knocking his elbows into them, and motioned for him to lift his hips up. He pulled down on the scrub pants. “Should've had you out of these earlier.” 

“I'm sorry, but not everyone strips off their pants as soon as they get in through the front door. Seriously, what's up with that?” He inhaled sharply when Blaine cupped him through his boxers, squeezing gently. “You know it's inevitable, right? That one of these days you're going to do it when I'm in the middle of entertaining guests right here?” Nearly glistening from feeling overheated, Kurt slipped out of his shirt. “It's so going to be a sitcom cliché where I flail my arms and holler something absurd and random to distract them from my fiancé's exhibitionism.”

Blaine wanted to at least try not to appear too eager in his obvious haste to help Kurt's legs out of the scrub pants, but he was quick to abandon that sinking ship. He'd had enough of them. Not just the scrubs, but clothing in general. He was totally fed up with clothing. Clothes, blah! He couldn't even find it in him to come up with a retort to Kurt's exhibitionist comment (other than “so?”) He sunk back on his heels, hands skimming appreciatively along the outside of Kurt's thighs. “Bedroom?” He asked, hopeful. The narrow couch was far too limiting, and he was feeling particularly greedy. 

Kurt responded with a knowing smile before he sat up to mirror Blaine's kneeling position. He kissed him soundly on the mouth, and they only broke the kiss long enough for Kurt to pull off Blaine's shirt over his head. He slid one hand down the front of Blaine's boxers, stroking him hard with a firm grip. “Bed,” he agreed. 

[xoxo]

The following morning, despite after chowing down a hearty breakfast his fiancé made for him, Blaine stopped by the atrium for a bagel with cream cheese. He was gulping down coffee out of his thirty-two ounce travel tumbler when he was poked in the ear with a banana. Santana, holding a cold bottle of Vitaminwater in her other hand, cut in front of him in line. He glanced at her without peeling his lips away from his hot beverage, but had to ask “what?” when she crookedly smirked at him without saying anything.

“Now this?” Holding the banana by the stem, she waved it in a circular motion. “This is the face of a guy who was up all night gettin' some.” A woman behind them in a disposable OR gown and cap cleared her throat. Santana met her gaze, and held on to it with a glare. “I know, right? I'm jealous, too.”

Oh, no. Blaine was in too good of a mood to let Santana ruin it. Well, to let Santana ruin it so early in the day. Pretending to not have heard anything she'd just said, he greeted her warmly. “Guess what Kurt felt for the first time last night?” He asked haughtily, grinning as he bit into his bagel. 

A small, surprised sound barely croaked past Santana's parted lips. She pushed the tip of her tongue into the inside of her bottom lip, nose crinkling slightly. He'd set her up with enough retorts to fill the air 'til lunch, at least—but, no. No, Blaine would never... not so easily! She squinted at him, shoulders tense. Santana eventually rattled off, “I can tell you what he didn't feel for the first time last night,” while wearing a dubious frown. 

He waited until he paid the cashier for his food to speak again. “The baby.” He added “of course,” as she droned it out. “Get used to this. I mean, it's only going to get worse after he's born.” Santana lolled her head to the side in what Blaine assumed was sheer anticipation of what was to come. “I'm thinking about setting up a Twitter account for our families to follow so they'll be able to keep updated on his devel—”

“Hold the fuck up.” Santana struck him in the shoulder with the banana. “What's with the gender-specific pronouns? Did I miss something?” He received another blow from the banana. “Oh my god, was there a penis sighting? You ass, I knew you'd peek.”

“Um, no. Kurt's not far along enough for that, so there's not much to peek at.” Not that he wasn't worried about catching a glimpse of exactly what he didn't want to know about yet in the next twenty-four weeks of appointments. His mind drifted off, and he thought about how upset Kurt had been after their first ultrasound. It had taken several attempts from both him and Quinn to help Kurt pick out the tiny fetus in the grainy sonogram picture. “That's the head?” Kurt had asked for a second time, skeptical. “Are you sure it's not a vaguely baby-shaped tumor?” And then, to Blaine, he'd quietly suggested about maybe getting a second opinion. 

“OK, but your fingers are so obviously crossed for a Blaine Jr.” Her eyes, having rolled up to the ceiling, dropped to stare at the smudge of cream cheese littering the side of his mouth. 

Blaine nearly dropped his bagel, visibly flustered. “What? No, my fingers are not—no! I thought I'd hop back and forth from 'he' to 'she' instead of using 'it,' that's all. I wouldn't, no. My fingers are not, they are not 'obviously crossed' at all, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, Anderson.” They lingered in front of an elevator, stalling for time before the start of their hectic shifts by stopping to admire a chipped mural on the wall. “Just remember—I know you.”

He didn't answer right away, possibly too busy for a moment as he prepared a mental note to use “she” the next time he gushed about his unborn child. “Why,” he asked as the elevator dinged and its gray doors swished open, “did that sound like... a threat?”

Santana stayed quiet, but leaned forward to wipe the smear of cream cheese off his face with the pad of her thumb. She winked, pressing the button for the main floor.

Blaine already started the countdown until noon in his head. Kurt was going to try to sneak away from the office to meet him in the hospital for lunch, and that would surely be the highlight of his day. Thinking about it was enough to put back a spring into his step, to make him smile. Santana noticed right away, and the gagging noise she made only made his smile brighten.

[xoxo]


	2. Chapter 2

[xoxo]

The sweaty heels of Kurt's palms dug into the firm mattress beneath them, the thin material of the coverlet bunching up under crooked fingers. He sucked in his upper lip between his teeth, eyelids fluttering up at the ceiling as Blaine worked on unbuttoning his plaid shirt from the bottom up. Hands trembling, he slowly spread the fabric apart, and leaned down to touch his lips to the skin below Kurt's navel. Feeling his fiancé's twitching lips trail upward, Kurt gasped in a breath of air, holding on to it until his lungs burned.

The alarm clock on Kurt's cellular phone went off, buzzing loudly and beeping frantically, which Kurt decidedly ignored as Blaine's mouth wetly made its way up his craned neck. He shook his head, reaching out to grab a fistful of Blaine's red polo when he pulled away. He was quick to hook his long legs around Blaine's waist, distracting him from the persistent noise with a hard kiss. Kurt responded to Blaine's hands half-heartedly pushing at his shoulders by squeezing his thighs together. Fingernails cutting into skin through clothing, Kurt eagerly swallowed Blaine's moans as he ground his hips down. 

“We can't... we have to...” He looked over his shoulder to steal a glance at the ticking wall clock, the White Rabbit dashing madly through his scrambled thoughts. “No, really. The plane isn't going to wait for us.” Eyebrows drawn tightly together, Kurt pulled down on Blaine's shirt collar, both quiet and pensive as his thumb brushed over a fresh hickey. “I'm serious. You know what's going to happen if we miss our flight? Two words.”

“More sex?” Kurt asked without missing a beat, grinning wolfishly. He was not looking forward to “toning it down” around his parents while they stayed with them for the week. Burt needed to accept that they were practically married (well, at least they'd be officially and legally married in eleven months), yet he insisted on treating them like they were... teenagers. He smiled, thinking about to how Blaine's hands had been shaking a minute earlier. He loved how they still had that effect on each other. 

Blaine pinched at his side. “Road trip.” Kurt, in record time, had moved out from under Blaine. He'd started working at the multi-colored buttons on his rumpled shirt before his feet had even touched the ground. “On second thought, doesn't a bus trip sound like way more fun than a boring ol' plane ride?” He rolled off the bed, zipping up his jeans. 

Kurt made a face, resting a hand over his belly. “If this baby inherits your sense of humor, I'm doubly doomed.”

“I don't see why.” Blaine turned his back to Kurt, bending over as he straightened out the covers on their bed. Kurt had packed (oh, and Blaine had helped) the luggage the night before, so all that was left to do was tidy up while waiting for the cab. He twirled around, “I have an impeccable sense of humor. Daffy Duck told me so.”

“I'm sure he did, sweetie, but you know Daffy Duck's catchphrase was 'you're _despicable_ ,' right?” Kurt was sure he heard the sound of Wile E. Coyote getting crushed by a boulder as Blaine's face fell.

“What?”

Kurt quietly decided to let Blaine Google that on his smartphone while he rolled their suitcases to the door.

[xoxo]

The plane ride to Ohio was pleasantly uneventful (for Kurt, at least. Blaine was stuck with a bored eight-year-old boy with dancing feet behind him). It was during the landing when Kurt started to bite at his fingernails. “Do you think he's going to be able to look at me and notice, like, right away? Like, before we get to sit down and tell them?” He asked nervously, not for the first time, his elbow pressing uncomfortably into Blaine's side. He was referring to Burt, who would be picking them up from the airport very soon.

Blaine shook his head, shifting as much as he possibly could in the narrow seat. His leg muscles were begging for some stretching. “I don't think he's going to notice,” was his honest answer. As common as male pregnancies were, it wasn't like Burt was expecting this kind of news from them.

“You don't think he's going to notice? Blaine, I've put on fifteen pounds since he saw me last.” That was actually a good thing, Kurt realized. Burt had been very vocal with his concerns regarding Kurt's weight during their past visit to Lima in July. Oh, wow. July. Kurt still felt bad about how neither he or Blaine had been able to get the time off for Thanksgiving. 

“If he says anything, you can go with a half-truth to hold us over until tonight. Tell him about how you've been seeing a nutritionist.” A nutritionist had been a suggestion from Quinn. Kurt had already been slightly underweight during the beginning of the first trimester after he'd managed to lose a few pounds from the constant morning sickness. Blaine pulled Kurt's hand away from his mouth. “None of that.” His fingers stayed circled around Kurt's wrist. 

“Do you think—”

“Kurt.”

Kurt closed his eyes, sighing when he felt tears prickling at the inside of his eyelids. Rachel and Finn weren't flying in until Christmas Eve, a day later than expected. Rachel had a list of parties she couldn't not go to, not when she had a spring play to promote, and Finn had a seminar in Allentown, Pennsylvania that was worth too many credits to skip. A new layer of guilt sprouted over an older one, and Kurt felt his shoulders crumbling under the weight of it all. They'd put off their announcement enough as it was. 

“None of that, either.” Blaine's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt or bruise, but enough to clue Kurt in that he was worried. Kurt opened his eyes only when he felt Blaine's warm, dry lips press into his cheek. He was vaguely aware of the other passengers hurriedly moving around them, noisily unpacking from the overheard compartments. They'd arrived; it was showtime. “Am I going to have to carry you out of this plane, or will you follow without any kicking or screaming?” 

“Oh, I'll follow. Not making any promises on the 'kicking and screaming' part, though.”

That was the response Blaine had been waiting for, hoping for. He, rather annoyingly and yet adorably, asked Kurt that very question during each Lima visit. Kurt had known that responding with a different answer would have only left his fiancé more worried than he already was. Blaine smiled, happy and relieved, and unbuckled his seat belt before leaning him to grace his cheek with another kiss. “Ooph!” Unexpectedly, his forehead knocked into Kurt's temple. He felt the back of his head where he'd nearly been taken out by the wheel from a hideous Vera Bradley roll along duffel bag.

“Whoa, hey!” Kurt called out angrily to the unapologetic woman as she continued on her way as if she just hadn't struck someone in the head with her luggage, his voice shrill. “Excuse you!”

“Excuse _me_?” The stranger snapped sarcastically over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah right.”

Kurt glowered, teeth clenched, and pulled Blaine in closer to him. He tried to push his fingers through Blaine's short hair to feel for a bump, but his hair was stubbornly matted down with too much gel. Taken back by a quick bubbly spasm inside of him, Kurt let out a soft sigh. He rested his chin on top of Blaine's head, taking a moment to calm down.

Yeah, they were definitely back in Ohio.

[xoxo]

Kurt rolled his eyes when Blaine took the time to straighten his lapels in the middle of the congested airport. The jacket wasn't exactly his favorite article of clothing, but it kept him warm and had enough room for him to grow a little—emphasis, as Blaine had pointed out to him after he'd shown him the recent purchase, on “a little.” That had started the first of several fights they would have about Kurt's initial refusal to buy any paternity attire. “You going to be OK looking for your dad while I go claim our baggage?”

“Are you going to be OK going off to claim our baggage while I look for my dad?” He tugged playfully at Blaine's crocheted scarf, a Christmas present his mother had given to him the previous year. Mrs. Anderson insisted on giving and receiving handmade gifts for birthdays and holidays. She'd made them matching sets complete with hats and mittens. Kurt still broke out the afghan he'd gotten from her on his eighteenth birthday on especially cold nights. “I mean, we do have a lot of baggage.” 

“I'll see if I can borrow a forklift. Call to let me know where to meet you guys, okay?” 

Kurt pretended to consider that. “I shall,” he drew out, then smiled widely. He waved his fingers at Blaine. “You won't be left behind again, don't worry. Although you should consider selling that childhood story to Hollywood. It's very _Home Alone_ meets _The Terminal_.”

It was only about a minute after Blaine bravely ventured off when Kurt spotted his father's baseball cap. He sneaked up behind him, wanting so badly to greet him with a tap on the back and a, “Hello there, **grandpa**!” He wasn't really sure how he would fare as a dad, but Kurt had no doubt Burt would be an awesome grandparent. Just imaging Burt holding his tiny granddaughter or grandson for the first time was enough to make him tear up—oh, shit. He wiped at his eyes, laughing. Burt took that moment, of course, to turn around. 

“Kurt!” Burt immediately pulled him forward by the shoulders into a tight hug. After breaking the embrace, Burt cut himself off mid-way through telling Kurt about how good it was to finally see him again. “OK. What's goin' on?”

Kurt was very much aware of how hard he was smiling. His cheeks were positively aching, and he was sure he could feel the strain up through his temples. He was _so_ setting himself up for premature wrinkles, goddamn. Kurt clasped his hands together in front of him, ready to feign confused innocence like a boss. “Whatever do you mean, father?”

Burt, as if this was anything new, was not patient enough to even consider buying what Kurt was trying to sell. Kurt wasn't really feeling up to all the effort it would take to not blurt out the news he and Blaine had to share (yeah, so let's put a strike through that earlier “like a boss” part). “Out with it, kid.” 

Well, if you insist... No. Kurt decided the very least he could do was wait for Blaine to find his way to them. He'd already sent a text to Blaine to let him know he hadn't traveled far to locate his father. A defensive “I'm hardly a kid” retort was at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back, shaking his head. He could hear Burt's “you're always going to be my kid” response without him having to say it. “I already told you over the phone that Blaine and I are—that we are having—that we are going to...” Oh god, were all ties between his mouth and brain cut off? He finished with a feeble and hurried, “announce an announcement.”

“Am I supposed to guess until then?” Kurt's head continued to shake from side to side. “Let me see... all right, you moved up the wedding again.” Burt seemed all too sure of his prediction. Kurt gritted his teeth, a quick shower of annoyance sprayed over him to help wash away most of his nervousness. “It wasn't much of a surprise the first time you moved it up, you know. I've always known you weren't going to wait until you were thirty.”

Kurt scoffed, raising a hand to his chest. “No, the wedding date has not been moved up.” He added a tense “again” through a low grumble. Changing the date of his—er, their wedding after having much of it already planned out had been a challenge he'd gladly accepted. Thing was, it hadn't occurred to him how much more work would have to go into it when he'd already had a lot going on. With the steadily increasing demand from his intern position and Blaine's twelve-hour rotating shifts, Kurt realized how busy their lives were. It dawned on him, slowly but surely, how much more busy they would be after the baby arrived. He tapped his foot, arm flying out to the side. “Seriously, dad? You don't notice anything different about me?”

Picking up on his son's quick shift from giddiness to distress, Burt frowned. Kurt waited for Burt's concerned gaze to comb through his appearance, not that he was expecting his dad to spot the subtle outward curve of his belly under his thickly quilted, buttoned-up coat. However, Burt's eyes stayed focused on Kurt's face, and he seemed unsure with what he'd found there. “There is something different about you,” he admitted suspiciously. Then, with a pleadingly desperate edge to his voice, “this announcement... it's a _good_ announcement, right?”

Kurt closed his eyes as he let a happy sigh loose to match his facial expression. He didn't want Burt to think he was hiding anything behind a mask, not now. “It really is,” he promised.

“Tell him,” Blaine's voice urged from behind them. Kurt spun around, eyebrows arched in startled disbelief. That had been quick, unusually so. Blaine greeted Burt with a nod and “sir,” and then he turned his attention back to Kurt. He nodded his head encouragingly, “go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Kurt mouthed as he stretched out his arm to offer his hand to Blaine. Together, they were doing this together. He let out a surprised laugh at the feel of Blaine's clammy palm against his own. “Really?” He had to teasingly ask. 

Burt watched them share a look that went on for a moment too long before huffing out a loud, tired sigh. “Well?” He asked, arms crossing over his chest.

“Well!” Arms swinging in-between him and Blaine, Kurt held his chin up high. “Well,” he repeated in a softer tone, “how would you like a grandchild?” His voice had faltered near the end, cracking on the last syllable. Unable to stay quiet for any longer, Blaine squeezed his hand.

“Because you're getting one,” he added enthusiastically. His eyes had gone watery, tears close to forming. “From us, me and Kurt. We're having a baby.”

It took Burt's ol' brain an embarrassingly long time to process what had been said to him. Grandchild? Kurt and Blaine... baby? His eyes flicked down to where their over-packed suitcases sat, jaw slack. Kurt grabbed his attention by snapping his fingers, pointing down in a circular motion at his stomach.

“In this general area, actually.”

“You... you're?” Burt took a step forward, shoulders hunched as he lowered his voice. “You're pregnant?” Kurt nodded his head once, which he'd done after enough hesitance for Burt's heart to ache. He threw his arms around the both of them, his boys. Kurt had graduated from college seven months ago, Blaine was already a registered nurse, and Finn was working at an outpatient facility as a physical therapist assistant. Damn, his boys had gone and grown up on him. “I don't believe this.” Blaine perked up, digging through his pockets.

“I can forward you a sound clip of the heartbeat.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he unlocked the touchscreen on his phone. Burt couldn't imagine being under Blaine's care in a hospital. To be fair, the same went for Finn. He couldn't see Finn teaching him how to, like, use crutches without somehow tripping himself in the process. “I have it on my cell, plus a remix.”

Kurt frowned, unimpressed. “You remixed a recording of our unborn baby's heartbeat? What's next, are you going to photoshop confetti and balloons into an ultrasound picture?”

Without looking up from his device, the corners of Blaine's mouth tugged down sharply. “You're definitely not going to want to look through the pictures on here or my DS.”

It started to sink in for Burt that he was going to be a grandparent, that his son was going to be a parent. He pulled Kurt and Blaine each into a one-armed hug, chuckling to himself. Kurt leaned into him, laughing at something Blaine showed them on his cell phone. Burt missed it completely, too many thoughts running through his mind, and he gripped on tighter to his son's shoulder. They'd grown up, but they weren't really grown ups, right? 

… Right?

Crap. He had grown-up sons. He was going to be a grandpa. He was old.

[xoxo]

It was closing in on midnight when Burt, stomach rumbling, tip-toed downstairs to pick at leftovers from dinner. It surprised him when he saw that the kitchen light was already on. He expected Blaine, but it was Kurt he found cutting out a second slice from one of Carole's homemade apple pies. “Couldn't sleep?” He asked, pulling open the refrigerator door. That pie looked much more delicious and late-night snack worthy than cold pot roast. “Or is this a... y'know, cravings thing.” He smirked, recalling Blaine's mention of Kurt's fleeting food affair with tacos drenched in mild sauce. Heartburn had put an end to that.

“Both, I guess.” He shrugged, not about to share with his dad the dreams he had about the baby and giving birth. He hadn't even told Blaine about them, about the dreams that were beginning to tread through nightmarish waters. He stabbed a fork into the middle of his wide slice of pie, his comfort food. Kurt had told himself not touch the Christmas Eve and Day desserts, but he'd been given special permission from Carole to dig in early after she had caught him practically drooling at them. “Ah-ah. No pie for you,” he sang out when Burt reached for the dish. “There are rice cakes in the pantry if you are hungry.”

“How—”

“Oh, and about that bag of fun-sized Snickers hidden in the box of Wheaties? I ate them.” Kurt used both of his hands to tug down on the hem of his loose-fitting henley shirt. The fabric stretched across his stomach, accentuating the bulge it'd been covering up. “All of them.” Not really, as he'd shared the half-empty bag of mini candy bars with Blaine after supper. He was such a bad influence; Kurt only had himself to blame if Blaine gained any sympathy weight. “Milk, please.”

Burt grunted, taking out a half-gallon carton of milk from the fridge. “You miss havin' any willpower?”

“It was doc's orders to temporarily surrender all self-control.” … While keeping the word “moderation” in mind. He would bounce back to watching what he ate again once he was closing in on his targeted weight, or at least he hoped he would. “I must admit, I could have gone without hearing about Blaine's mom gaining sixty-eight pounds while she was pregnant with him.” Even Carole hadn't put on that much when she had Finn. He looked down at his generous serving of scrumptious pie, nausea roughly prickling through him. Kurt groaned out “I can't even,” and slid the plate toward his father. 

Burt leaned against the counter, happily eating up the fruit-filled pastry. He smiled around the fork, quiet for a moment. “Your mom... when she was, uh, expecting—”

Kurt cleaned up by sweeping crumbs into his palm. “Wow, pa.” He used his foot to press down on the garbage bin's lever so that the lid held itself up while he brushed his hands off each other. “How 1950s of you,” he commented dryly.

“Yeah, well. She would elbow me awake 'bout every other night to fetch her somethin' when she was hungry.” As if he were waiting for Kurt to snatch the plate out of his hands, Burt was quick to chow down the rest of the dessert. “So, why isn't Blaine the one down here?” He asked messily through the last bite of pie, much to Kurt's annoyance. Luckily for his dad, Kurt wasn't feeling up to lecturing him about how rude and disgusting it was for one to talk with their mouth full. He also didn't bother to warm up any milk before filling up two glasses. 

“Why would he be?” Kurt asked testily, frowning. It was bad enough he got up so often in the middle of the night to satisfy random food cravings; could his pregnancy be any more stereotypical? It wasn't supposed to, though. Male pregnancies were not conventional, and Kurt refused to let any clichéd notions determine or judge how he and Blaine should react in particular situations. His legs were in working order, so Kurt really could not find a reason to force Blaine out of bed to do any “fetching.” He bit back what he really wanted to say, but still managed a truthful answer. “I try not to wake Blaine up during the night unless there's something that can't wait until morning.”

Burt looked surprised, and voiced exactly that. “Blaine's always been one eager son of a gun. I would've put money on—”

Kurt could feel his blood pressure rising. He should've stayed in bed, warm and comfortable under the weight of Blaine's arm. It was too cold in the kitchen, the linoleum felt like ice under his bare feet. He'd forgotten his slippers, along with Blaine's electric shaver, at their apartment in the city (Kurt had a flashback to Blaine's dad admitting that he'd thought their super-duper news was going to be that they'd bought a house, but had stated that a grandchild “would do”). He took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't come off nearly as offended as he felt. “Blaine,” he exhaled slowly, “works really hard to support us.”

“Whoa, OK.” Apparently he was coming off as offended as he felt. Burt gently set down his fork and plate into the sink. “I never said he didn't, I was just—”

“I know,” Kurt stressed out in an apologetic tone, “but he's been working some crazy overtime so that we can save up to put together a nice nursery for the baby while I work full-time hours unpaid, and you know what? He doesn't complain, Not one bit.” He'd stuttered out the mention of the “nursery,” a messily organized room directly across the hall from their bedroom. It wasn't much now, obviously, but Kurt... oh, he had plans for it. Plans he hadn't discussed with Blaine because they'd agreed not to buy anything baby-related until he was at least twenty-five weeks along. He was willing to ignore the musical crib mobile Blaine had hidden away in a shoebox under their bed as long as Blaine was willing to ignore Kurt's nursery room blueprints and paint swatches that were tucked into an old issue of Vogue.

“Give the kid some credit,” Burt sighed out heavily. He slid a hand against his bald scalp. “He knew what he was gettin' into when you took the internship.”

Kurt hissed out, “I know,” again. “I want—I'm thinking about quitting.” He rubbed his hands over his face, wincing when he felt where another pimple was forming. “It's been made very clear that I'm not going to be considered for the position, so there isn't any point sticking with it when my time could be better spent, I don't know, elsewhere.” He forced his hands away from his mouth when he felt his teeth painfully split through chewed-down fingernails. 

“Yeah, like that didn't sound well-rehearsed or nothin'.” He frowned, reaching out to rest his hand on Kurt's tense shoulder. “Want to tell me what's really eatin' at you here?”

Kurt made a humorless chuckling noise. He admitted, out loud and in total honesty, that there wasn't anything “eating” at him that wouldn't be on any other new dad's mind. So what, he demanded to know, if he wanted to find a real job. “We could use the extra income, anyway.” Kurt pushed away from the counter, out from under Burt's hand. He'd recognized a certain look that had flickered across Burt's face, a familiar look from his adolescence when Burt was about to tell him something he knew he wouldn't want to hear. “Is there something wrong with me wanting to help provide for my—oh, hello.” A hand flew down to rub across his belly. “Someone's up.”

Burt had taken a step forward, his eyes wide. “You can feel 'im kick already?”

“No, it's not so much kicking as it is tossing and turning, I guess.” He was looking down at his stomach, fingers prodding above the area where he'd felt the burst of fetal activity. “Sorry,” he said before his hula hoop of personal space could be invaded. “You can't really feel it from the outside, yet.” 

“Listen,” Burt spoke up in a hushed tone, “there's something I wanted to talk to you about.” He touched his hand over the top of his head again. “Now, it's not official or anything, but Carole brought it up before bed, so it's definitely on our minds again. We discussed it when, uh, before Finn and Rachel... but, we were maybe thinkin' about movin' it on over to the east coast.” Kurt hopped up, lightly clapping his hands together. “Like I said, not official, and we're not going to live in the city with you kids. We thought it made sense with grandkids comin' into the picture, so we're going to look into it.” He knew it wouldn't be an easy move; there were a lot of pros and cons to consider. “Oh, and a reminder for if we manage to work this out? Grandparents are not built-in babysitters.” 

Kurt bounced forward, hugging Burt tightly. “We'll see about that, gramps.” He laughed when Burt groaned, not used to the new title. They stood in the kitchen for a while longer, chatting idly until Kurt yawned into the crook of his arm. After another round of exchanging goodnights, Kurt made his way back upstairs to his bedroom. Blaine was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. Kurt quietly shut the door behind him, his head tilting slightly to the side. He smiled, very pleased. “You're up.”

“I am,” Blaine agreed cheerfully. His eyebrows rose when Kurt pushed down his pants. He stepped out of them, toes nudging the silk pajama bottoms off to the side. He sat down next to Blaine, shifting onto his knees. “Very much so.”

“Trade places with me?” Kurt cupped Blaine's cheek, pecking kisses to the sides of his lips before kissing him fully on the mouth. “If you think you can be quiet.”

Blaine whimpered, which was good enough of a response for Kurt.

[xoxo]

Blaine sat in the cozy Hudson-Hummel living room with Burt, watching an early afternoon football game on the television. He was stuffing a handful of salty popcorn into his mouth when his cellular phone vibrated from inside the pocket of his cardigan, signaling a new text message. He pulled out out, smiling at the beautifully poetic message waiting for him from Kurt. 'I hate you,' it read in bold text. 

'Having fun, babe?' he typed out, greasy fingers slipping clumsily across the screen. Carole and Julie, his mom, had kidnapped his fiancé earlier that day to go clothes shopping. Carole had called Julie with the idea after hearing the tantrum Kurt threw because he could no longer get his “fat” jeans to button up. He'd tried to get out of it by feigning a sudden bout of morning sickness, but Blaine had somehow managed to “talk him into it” (also known as shameless bribing). 

'I am drowning in an alarming overabundance of sequins and ruffles.' He barked out a laugh, sharing the message with Burt. He was then sent a picture of a top that appeared to be the wild lovechild of a floral aloha shirt and that puffy shirt from Seinfeld. 'Oh my god, your mother is waving a muumuu at me right as I type this. A muumuu, Blaine.'

'Oh, you can rock anything! Go for it,' Blaine urged him while snickering at the adorable mental image of a deadpanned Kurt wearing a colorful, off the shoulder muumuu. Despite sending off the text message without any second thoughts, he knew he shouldn't poke at the bear. He rested the phone on top of his thigh, waiting for Kurt's reply. There were many different responses imaginable for what he'd said, all with varying degrees of special pregnancy hormones-fueled hostility, so when his cellphone went without buzzing with a text message alert, Blaine wondered if a certain someone was plotting his “accidental death.” His mind focused back on the game after his team scored a touchdown. 

It was during the halftime show's final minutes when a Christmas song ringtone loudly erupted from the speakers on Blaine's phone, Carole's name popping up on the lit-up screen. “Blaine,” she rushed out urgently as soon as he answered the call, “this is Carole.” The smart-ass in him was knocked quiet from pointing out that he knew who it was by the tone of her voice. It was the same tone he would use at work to reassure patients and their loved ones. “Kurt—”

Blaine felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. “Oh, god.”

“No! No, listen to me. He's OK, but there was some dizziness so we're heading back now.” He asked to speak with Kurt, needing to hear from him that he was OK. “He's not with me. I asked Julie to get some orange juice in him while I bring the car around to the front.” She threw him off by asking if he knew where the teakettle was stored in the kitchen. “I think Kurt would like a hot drink waiting for him when we get home, don't you?” 

“Yes, I do. He would.” He looked up to see Burt standing above him. “I... thank you.” Blaine was already making a beeline for the closet where his jacket hung before he'd even disconnected the call. He pulled his scarf off a hanger (oh, Kurt), and wrapped it twice around his neck. Slipping his feet into unlaced boots, he asked Burt to boil the water for him. He scrambled forward, stopping short of the front door when he noticed the ridiculous look on Burt's face. There was concern mixed in, but it was one hell of a funny expression being aimed at him. He laughed, hand loosely grasping the brass doorknob. 

“Boiled water? What, we doin' a run-through of a home birth?” 

“The water's for tea, Mr. Hummel.” Damn, yet another 'first name basis' setback. He shook his head, he'd get it right another time. Burt was about eleven months away from being his father-in-law. “Kurt's not feeling well, so they're ending their day at the shoppes early.” He thought about what Carole had said, wishing she had give him more than “some dizziness.” His grip on said doorknob tightened. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wait outside for them.”

“Hold your horses, 'not feeling well' as in...?” Burt demanded to know, feet shuffling forward. There was a stubbornly suspicious gleam in his eye as if maybe Blaine wasn't telling him everything, and he wasn't going to settle for anything less than the truth when it came to his kid—and his kid's kid, 'cause he had that to think of now, too.

“Low blood sugar, likely.” Hypoglycemia wasn't anything new thanks to Kurt's frequent tendency to skip meals. It popped up every now and then, but Kurt hadn't had much trouble remembering to eat over the past few months. “It's OK,” he said, although he wasn't sure if he was talking to Burt to speaking out loud to himself.

Thankfully, it wasn't too frigid outside. A thin blanket of snow covered the front lawn, the sidewalks freshly littered with rock salt. Blaine sat down on the first step leading down the front porch, his side pressed against the metal railing. He rubbed his hands together, mind blank at what he'd done with his gloves. Kurt would know, he always kept better track of Blaine's stuff than Blaine ever could. He stood up as a car pulled into the driveway, feet moving quickly down the stairs. The driver side door flung open, and Blaine's jaw dropped as Finn unfolded out from the teeny-tiny rental car (no, really. It made Rachel appear tall... er, or at least normal sized).

“Hey, dude!” He tugged Blaine into a back-slapping hug. “One hell of a welcome, thank you very much, but how'd you know we were on our way?”

Blaine waved his painfully frozen fingers at Rachel. She mimicked the way of greeting, her too-wide smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I didn't,” he admitted. He half-turned away, relieved to see Carole's vehicle coming up behind Finn's. “Sorry, but I've got...” He pointed behind them, trailing off as he hurried around to swing open the other car's passenger side door. “Hey, you.” He held out his hand for Kurt to take. Kurt instead brought Blaine's hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over the ridges of his knuckles.

“I'm fine, by the way.” He let go of Blaine's hand, reaching down to give him a light shopping bag to carry (“Seriously,” Blaine would later scold, “two pairs of regular jeans? That's all you bought?”). “Slight headache, but I'm certain it's from all the tragic crimes against fashion I was forced to witness in such a short period of time.” He dropped his chin down to his chest. “Too much,” he whispered with sadness, “too much.”

Julie slid out of the car from the opposite side. She adjusted her crocheted hat, pulling it down over the tips of her ears. “Son, can you believe he spent half the morning trying to hide from us?”

Blaine gasped loudly. “No, mother, I cannot. My Kurt? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, aren't you two so cute. I wasn't so much hiding as I was trying to escape.” Rather unsuccessfully, too. He'd been replying to Blaine's outrageously stupid “go for it” text message when he'd been spotted slouching behind a rack of polka-dotted nursing bras. “I would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for—”

“Oh! Oh my, Finn? Rachel?” Carole finally noticed her son and daughter-in-law standing eight feet away. She hadn't been expecting them until late tomorrow night. Finn hadn't sounded hopeful about making it any sooner than that when she'd last spoken with him over the phone. “You're early,” she squealed happily, “come here.” Carole wrapped her arms tightly around Finn. She held an arm out, gesturing at Rachel to join in on the hug. She'd lingered in the same spot, shifting weight from one leg to the other. “This is great, more time for us to spend together.”

Kurt nudged at Blaine's elbow, whispering to him about really needing to use the bathroom. Blaine wetted his lips, chapped from the bitter cold. “Let's get you inside, huh? Your dad's got the water ready for some tea.” Julie snapped her gloved fingers noiselessly, hitching a heavy shopping bag over her shoulder. 

“Tea and pie sounds lovely,” she said. 

Once he'd made his way through hugging everyone, Finn strolled over to stand behind his car. “Tea and pie sounds awesome,” he said. He lifted up the hatch, looking behind his shoulder long enough to share a wink with Mrs. Anderson. His mouth was already watering for a slice (or three, maybe four if he was sneaky enough) of his mother's homemade pie.

Julie stood on her toes to drape an arm along the tight line of Kurt's shoulders. They were all making their way towards the house. “You going to be able to keep it down, dear? I know breakfast didn't sit well with you, and after that dizzy spell...” 

“Oh,” Rachel piped up from the back. “Is Kurt ill? Two days before Christmas, too. We are two of a kind, and that is how our luck tends to lean, so it isn't all that surprising.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Blaine heard Finn snap in a very low mumble. He tried to keep from glancing back, too curious for his own good. Having offered to give Finn a hand with some of Rachel's star-covered suitcases, he lagged behind with them. “Leave my brother out of this, Rachel. I mean it.”

“He was my friend before he was your brother.” She hissed out “stepbrother,” as if the emphasized prefix gave the word less meaning. Blaine puckered his lips out in a silent whistle, continuing to stare straight ahead. He picked up his pace, an unpleasant feeling clenching deep within his stomach.

[xoxo]


	3. Chapter 3

[xoxo]

Christmas Eve, Blaine decided from where he was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace with a mug of eggnog in his hand, was awesome. The house was filled with more than one kind of warmth, and it all closed in around Blaine in a way that left him feeling loose and fatigued with contentment. Or maybe the eggnog was spiked, who really knew. Carole had also made the delightful mistake of setting down the cookie tray within arms reach from him and Finn. Finn had quietly taken a seat on the hardwood floor next to him, knees bent to his chest.

Finn sunk his teeth into a thick ricotta cookie that had been dyed red and decorated with green sprinkles. “I filed for divorce,” he mumbled before stuffing another cookie into his mouth. 

“You what?” Blaine looked behind his shoulder where, on the other side of the room, his mom was patiently teaching Carole and Burt how to crochet. Carole was slowly working her way through the fourth row of what looked to Blaine like a small blanket. Burt, on the other hand, was about to give up on the second row (which was ever so crooked) to his scarf(?). Julie shook her head at his attempt, smiling behind a hand when he cursed under his breath. Kurt was in the kitchen with Rachel, and Blaine had to wonder if she'd also just dropped the d-word bombshell on him. “What—how—Are you...?” He had no idea what he wanted to ask. Finn wouldn't even look at him. “Why?” 

Finn sighed, grabbing a handful of chocolate chip cookies before standing up. He nodded his head over to the staircase, and Blaine followed him upstairs. “Mom and Burt don't know yet,” he admitted softly, looking down at his feet. The tip of his toe poked through a hole in his sock. He continued without any prompting from Blaine, his voice growing more and more bitter with each word. “Rachel wants to wait until her play is closer before she'll sign anything.”

“What happened?” 

“She lied to me in a big way.” Finn's hands were balled into fists. Noticing, he straightened his fingers out, and then stepped back until his back was against the wall. The hallway light bulb above them flickered. Finn tilted his head back, mentally counting backwards from ten before saying anything else. “Rachel, uh, had something done without telling me, and then lied about it.” He whispered, “she's lying to everyone,” in such a soft tone that Blaine wasn't sure sure if he'd heard him right or if Finn was even aware he'd said it out loud. “I really think I could have found it in me to forgive her, but she—ugh, Blaine, she refuses to find any time for marriage counseling. Said her schedule was 'too busy' for something so 'trivial,' so that was that. I saw a divorce attorney.”

Blaine was quiet, certain he'd reached his quota for any further inquiries (although he'd only gotten through two of the five Ws, Blaine wasn't about to push his luck when Finn looked like he needed something to give a good ol' smack to). Finn and Rachel had tied the knot during the summer break in between freshman and sophomore year. Blaine had learned from Kurt that Rachel had pushed for a wedding because someone had somehow given her the idea that the title of a wife would give her a “mature edge” for fall auditions. He drew out a “wow,” the news sinking in. 

“Yeah,” Finn grunted grumpily, “wow.” He clumsily slid down the wall to sit on the floor. His fingernails scratched into the carpet between his sprawled knees. “I've been avoiding you guys for too long, you know? Figured I finally owed you an explanation.” He would've laughed at the comical way Blaine's eyebrows had shot up if it hadn't felt so insulting. “Dude, we live in the same city. Seriously? You seriously didn't notice I haven't been around in, like, forever?”

Blaine's eyebrows stayed glued in the “oh shit” position. He choked out a string of “no”s that weren't very assuring. Finn threw his hands up, scoffing.

“I don't believe this.” He'd thought it would be best to keep his distance from them, Kurt especially. Finn had figured Kurt would catch on too easily, that he'd notice right away that something wasn't quite right between him and Rachel. 

“I have—we have, totally, but Kurt and I have been...” Blaine pushed a hand over his gelled-back hair, placing his other hand over his chest. He wanted to pick his words carefully, knowing the truth would pack quite a punch. “Uh, we've been a little preoccupied lately.”

“With what? Planning your wedding?” Finn snapped, sneering. “Good luck on that, by the way, 'cause they are two of a kind.”

Blaine crouched down in front of him. “Kurt's pregnant,” he blurted out calmly. It was Finn's turn for his eyebrows to shoot up and greet his hairline. He shook his head from side to side in a jerky motion, the corner of his upper lip slightly raised. Blaine's stomach churned at the look of disgust Finn couldn't seem to wipe off his face. 

“What? That's... you're...” He stared up at Blaine, his Adam's apple bobbing under smooth skin as he swallowed. “No way.” 

“He'll be exactly eighteen weeks tomorrow.” Blaine clasped his hands together, lifting up his elbows until he could rest his chin against the backs of thumbs. It was cooler upstairs, and his fingers felt like ice when pressed to his flushed face. “We're almost halfway through this.” He shifted onto his knees, nearly getting knocked over by Finn's flailing arms when he suddenly pushed away from the wall to gathered himself to his feet. “Whoa, where are you going? Don't be—” However, Finn was already rounding the corner. Blaine hurried after him, careful not to slip down the stairs in his socks. 

Kurt was still standing at the kitchen island with Rachel, peeling the brown shells off hard-boiled eggs. His eyes were red-rimmed, something Blaine instantly noticed. He was quiet about it, wondering if it confirmed his suspicions about Rachel breaking the news about her and Finn's separation and eventual divorce to Kurt. Blaine held his breath, keeping a wary eye on Finn as he marched up to Kurt, his shoulder pointedly turned to Rachel. She quickly glanced at Blaine, lips drawn tight. Blaine ignored the sharp knock at the front door, taken back by the bright flicker of anger in her eyes.

“You're pregnant?” Finn asked loudly, skeptical. Kurt blinked rapidly, setting down an egg on a folded paper towel. He cleared his throat, nodding his head while his shoulders twitched upward into an uneven shrug. “I don't believe this.” 

Kurt suctioned his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Been there, done that. Oh, we do have pictures for—”

“But you're a guy.” Blaine flinched along with Kurt, the harsh words leaving more of a sting than a slap to the face. Kurt's smile trembled around the corners before vanishing completely. Rachel snapped out Finn's name in a sharp exhale, cupping a hand over her eyes. Finn ignored the reactions, his gaze hesitantly trailing down to study Kurt's midsection. “Are you sure? Like, are you sure—sure?”

“Surely sure, yes.” Kurt picked up the last egg, rolling it across the counter with enough pressure under his palm to send cracks splitting through its shell. He cleared his throat again. “My 'bobble-head tumor' theory was thoroughly debunked by—”

“Blaine, your dad's here.” Carole popped up behind Blaine, poking him lightly in-between the shoulder blades with his mother's bamboo crochet hook. “We can start the movie soon, guys.” Her enthusiasm had lessened with each syllable. A sniff from Kurt must have caught her attention; her eyes flicked over to him, and then from her son to Rachel. Blaine uneasily looked away when she tried to meet his gaze. “Guys?”

Kurt attempted to rattle off something that would sound reassuring enough to send Carole on her merry way, but Finn's booming voice drowned him out. “Did you know that—” Finn let out a sardonic groan, the pity in his mom's eyes knocking the breath out of him. “What, am I the last to know?”

An exasperated “No!” flew out of Kurt's mouth as Blaine stepped forward to explain, “We've just start telling people, Finn.” 

“I don't know.” Finn whipped around to face Rachel, looking to her as if she would have some eye-opening input. She shook her head at him, eyes watering, and quietly excused herself. “It's just so weird.”

Burt practically bulldozed his way into the kitchen through Blaine and Carole. “OK, Finn. That's enough.”

Finn's eyes were wide. “No, no. Burt! It's not, I'm not, it's really—”

“Enough,” Burt snapped roughly. Kurt made a high-pitched hiccup noise, turning away as his reddened face crumpled. Finn apologetically stuttered incoherently until he was ushered onto the back porch by Burt. Carole had rushed out of the room to grab their coats, figuring they could be out there for a while. On her way back through the kitchen, she reached out without stopping to stroke the tips of her fingers through the hair on the back of Kurt's head. His arms were loosely hugged over Blaine's shoulders, their foreheads touching. 

“Didn't think he'd react like that,” she heard Kurt whisper brokenly. 

“Don't take it personally,” Carole asked of him. “Give him another chance, he needs... time, honey. I know once he realizes he's going to be an uncle, he's going to bounce off the walls.”

Blaine kissed him on the lips, waiting until Kurt's well-meaning stepmother was gone before he spoke up. “She's right,” he said. “I'm sure he didn't mean it. Finn's had a lot to deal with, first with the miscarriage, and then with everything else that's led up to him wanting the divorce. It must all really be wearing him down.”

Kurt pulled away, hands moving down to grip at either side of Blaine's shoulders. “The what?”

“Rachel—oh, she didn't tell you? Then what, then why were you crying—?” Rachel hadn't seemed surprised by the news when Finn had asked Carole if she'd already known about it. More than anything, he hoped those tears he'd caught in Kurt's eyes had been happy ones. The unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd started feeling days ago was creeping up on him again, heavy and knowing. 

“Finn and Rachel, our Finn and Rachel are getting a divorce? What... how, why?”

“Shh,” Blaine hissed when Carole came back in from outside. She rubbed her arms, smiling awkwardly at him while murmuring, “Brr.” She stalled, noticing the flabbergasted expression on Kurt's face.

“What's going on?”

Kurt wildly gestured his hands up. “I don't even know anymore,” he snapped curtly before storming up the stairs leading to the second floor. 

Carole looked to Blaine for an answer, but all he could muster up was a tired sigh as he picked up the mess from the deviled eggs Kurt had been ready to prepare. His reply would have only echoed Kurt's, anyway. 

[xoxo]

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Blaine kissed the underside of Kurt's jaw, smiling into unshaven skin. He traced the pad of his thumb over the faint line vertically trailing down the midline of Kurt's stomach, squinting against the early morning sunlight as it peered in through the curtains. He pouted when his wandering hand was knocked away.

“Cold,” Kurt whined sleepily. He rolled onto his side, sliding a hand over his belly. Eyes popping open, he rubbed a hand over his stomach again. “Oh, my god.” He pushed himself up, pulling his striped shirt further up. “What did you do, shove a bicycle pump into my ass while I was sleeping to inflate me up? It was not like... this when I went to bed.”

“I know, it's definitely... rounder, right?” The jeans Kurt had picked out the other day, despite being bought in a bigger size, weren't going to get much wear. Pregnancies amazed the hell out of Blaine, a fact he'd become aware of during his stint in OB-GYN. Kurt had only started “showing” a few weeks ago, and all the “popping” seemed to happen overnight. “Wasn't me, though. Maybe Santa?” 

Kurt snorted, sitting up straighter. Without needing to be asked, Blaine added another pillow for support behind his back. He fluffed the side closest to him, smiling sweetly. Kurt cupped his hands to the sides of his stomach, breathing out softly. “Eighteen weeks down,” he whispered. “Twenty-two to go.”

“Eighteen weeks,” Blaine repeated in awe. He scooted down the bed until his head was level with Kurt's stomach. He twirled the untied drawstring to Kurt's fleece pajama bottoms around a finger. “By now, I think he should be starting to hear sounds.” The tip of his nose grazed over smooth skin as he leaned in close to call out, “hello in there!”

“Blaine!” Kurt laughed, shushing him. He reminded Blaine how likely it was that they were the only ones up at six thirty in the morning. “You could have also just startled her, gosh. Rude much, honey?” Blaine harrumphed, shoulders collapsing as he leaned down at an uncomfortable angle to nuzzle his cheek to Kurt's belly, petting it affectionately.

“You know what would make an awesome Christmas present, baby o' mine? If you could please kick or elbow, I'm not choosy, your papa hard enough so that I can feel it? Thanks.”

“Hey!”

Blaine sat back, crossing his legs. “What? It would so be, like, a Christmas miracle.”

“A Christmas miracle would be you not gifting everyone with socks again this year, not—” He ignored Blaine's loud gasp, his jaw falling open. “Not our baby's fetal development impossibly speeding up because you asked politely.”

“Oh, whatever.” He bent down, stage-whispering, “we'll show him.”

“Yeah, that's going to get old quick.”

“It's for the best if you get used to us teaming up on you now.” Blaine held his breath, waiting to get swatted by either Kurt's hands or his sharp words. What caught him off guard was Kurt bursting into tears. “Wh—what's wrong, hey?” He rubbed his hand soothingly down Kurt's thigh, resting it over his knee. “Oh, baby, what is it?” Kurt wiped at his cheeks.

“Nothing,” he choked out. “Nothing. These are happy tears. You said 'us' and you weren't referring to—” He pointed a finger back and forth in-between them. “Us.” He chuckled nervously, feeling absolutely foolish, and apologized. “And then you had to go and stroke my leg, so I'm touched and so... unbelievably turned on. Oh my god, my emotions.”

“Well,” Blaine said very seriously. The hand that was on Kurt's knee slid up and then inward to knead the inside of Kurt's thigh. “Like you said, we're probably the only ones up right now.” He smiled, not expecting Kurt's eager nod. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth. I want your mouth,” he said to him, voice low and hoarse. “Oh, oh, and your fingers. I want your—oh, and your—oh, just give me everything.”

Blaine couldn't deny Kurt anything, especially not when he was able to go from giddy to upset to horny in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Another thing he didn't want to do was test how easily and how quickly Kurt could shift to anger. He would also prefer to keep any and all tears out of his fiancé's beautiful eyes (nothing wilted him quicker than Kurt's tears).

They ended up in the shower afterward, exchanging lazy kisses as they slow danced in the cramped space under a warm spray of water. The awkward swaying was mainly due to low water pressure, and its heavy spurts of water bursting out from only one side of the old shower head. Blaine's hands skimmed down Kurt's backside, their chests pressed together.

“I'm...” Kurt's tongue was in his mouth, his fingers moving through his hair. Blaine teased his tongue against Kurt's, sucking at it gently. 

“Yeah?” He asked breathily, breaking the kiss to mouth at Kurt's neck. He was more than ready for another round of sex. Not where they were, though; Blaine had his fill of shower sex after slipping on a bar of soap mid-thrust years ago. His hip still ached when it rained, sometimes. 

“I'm hungry.” 

Blaine frowned, feeling the need for verification before he would drop his head to Kurt's shoulder. “For food?” 

“For food.” Kurt kissed at Blaine's temple, and then again at the damp skin below his hairline. He smiled into the wet, wild curls there that tickled his chin. “Let's make pancakes for everyone.”

The growling noises Blaine's stomach made from the mention of pancakes backed up Kurt's suggestion without Blaine having to say anything. 

[xoxo]

Downstairs in the kitchen, Kurt poked at the edges of a half-cooked pancake on a frying pan with a slotted turner while Blaine slid a tray of turkey sausage links into a preheated oven. Christmas music played softly from a small, flat radio nailed to the underside of an overhead cabinet. They softly sang along to their favorite holiday classics, trying to keep quiet even as floorboards creaked above their heads.

“Ow,” Kurt snapped suddenly. He flipped the pancake with one hand, using the other to reach behind his back. “Way to go, cowboy.”

Blaine looked up from the egg timer he'd set. “What?”

“Back's a little sore.” He rolled his eyes, Blaine's fingers shooing away his own to massage at achy muscles. “Maybe you rode me too hard.” He impatiently snapped his hips from side to side when Blaine's movements stopped. “No, no. I liked it. It's a very good position that we must fit in a few more times before this speed bump gets in the way.”

“What have we said about your little nicknames for the baby?” Blaine pushed his hands up Kurt's shirt, pressing both thumbs into the small of his back. Kurt bit down on the inside of his upper lip, trying not to lean into the hot stove. 

Carole, clad in a pair of silk pajamas Kurt had gifted her with for a past birthday, stuck her head into the room. “Merry Christmas, boys. What's going on in here?”

“Kurt's making pancakes.” Blaine inched back on his heels, trying to put as much space in-between their bodies without interrupting the circles he was rubbing into Kurt's skin. “I think he might even share some with us.” Carole smiled at them, glancing behind her shoulder. She hesitantly stepped forward into the kitchen, arms folding over her chest. 

“Do either of you happen to know why Finn's sleeping on the couch?”

Kurt slipped the pancake onto a square plate, reaching for the bowl of batter. He'd added green and red sprinkles after mixing all the ingredients together for a slightly more festive Christmas breakfast. “Is he?” He asked, frowning at the lopsided mess he'd created on the frying pan. Blaine broke away from Kurt to pull two glasses out from a cupboard.

“I—we didn't even notice, Carole.” _Clink_. He brought down another pair, and then one more. _Clink_. Kurt couldn't help but to smirk at his fiancé; he was so obviously moving in slow motion to avoid having to turn around and make eye contact with Carole. 

“Maybe they had a fight?” It wasn't necessary, but she reminded them how Finn and Rachel had traded off every year with which family they'd spend the holidays with. This year they should have been at Rachel's parents' house, celebrating Hanukkah. Neither Finn nor his wife had offered any reason for the last-minute change. “It could have to do with that, right?”

“It could,” Kurt agreed tensely. He lowered his arm away from the stove, grip tight around the kitchen utensil's silicone handle. They'd heard Finn's snoring from the living room as they'd descended down the stairs. They hadn't say anything about it to each other, only exchanged worried looks. He extended his arm out toward Blaine, twirling the turner in-between his fingers. “Could you take over this for me? I'll be right back, though, so don't go making any weirdly-shaped pancakes.”

Oh, it was on now. He hadn't yet taken the turner from Kurt, so that was used to slap away his hand when he tried to poke at Kurt's stomach. “Not everyone can make perfect circles like you, sweetums.” 

“'Sweetums'? Isn't that the hairy ogre Muppet?” Carole asked, momentarily distracted from her son's possible martial problems by Kurt and Blaine's all-consuming love for each other. Their back and forth banter was always a treat, too. Kurt tilted his head back slightly, chin tilting up. 

“Oh?”

Damn, all it took was one word to send chills down Blaine's spine. “It's just a—” He was silenced with a firm kiss, the turner pressed into his pliant hand. 

“I'll be right back,” Kurt repeated in an icier tone than before. It would have been more threatening if he hadn't sounded so amused at the same time. Blaine was simply adorable when he was flustered, he thought. 

On Kurt's way out of the kitchen to use the bathroom, Carole stopped him (by barricading the doorway with her body so he couldn't leave) to pat and coo at his pronounced belly. He sighed, knowing he would never get used to people invading his personal space like that. Family and close friends? He could attempt tolerance for them, but strangers? Nuh-uh. Blaine was going to have to hold him back, keeping all blunt and sharp objects away.

Kurt relieved himself in his bedroom's private bathroom, taking time to pose in front of the full-length mirror covering the inside of the door. He hummed the catchy chorus to a song playing only in his head as he exited the room, and was surprised to find Rachel sitting at the foot of his bed. She was dressed in a bubble gum pink nightgown, her hair tied back into braided pigtails. Damn, she could still easily pass for a high school-aged teenager. 

“Either you found a time machine or the fountain of youth,” Kurt remarked dryly. 

Rachel looked up from picking at the chipped nail polish on her fingernails. “I want to say I'm sorry for last night. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“You're not apologizing for what you said,” he observed coldly. Every word she'd viciously uttered at him while they were alone in the kitchen was fresh as ever in his mind, the hurt she'd made him feel still pulsating through him. Her carefully blank stare set him off. “I'm not making a mistake!” Rachel gasped, jumping to her feet.

“That is not what I said. You're twisting my words around!” She actually stomped her foot, and yeah. Time machine, definitely. 

Kurt scoffed, “I can't twist around what was already twisted.” He stormed across the room to shut and, on impulse, lock the door. “You told me I was doing the wrong thing by starting a family before my career could take off.”

“Not in those words, I didn't. All I did was remind you that you don't even have your foot in the door yet, Kurt. All I did was give you my opinion with a side of reality, and I'm not apologizing for it.”

“You are totally off your rocker, Berry. No wonder Finn wants a divorce.” Even though he'd wanted the words to cut deep, Kurt felt a pang of guilt when Rachel flinched. She looked wildly around the room as if she were a caged animal looking for a way out. “I don't need a 'side of reality,'” he told her. “The reality is... the reality is, I want a family with Blaine.”

“The reality is,” she whispered to herself. The reality is, Finn wants a divorce. She sniffed, looking up from the carpet. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, if that's what you want.”

He nodded. “It's not just what I want. It's what we want.”

Tears threatened to spill over in Rachel's eyes. “Then I'm happy for you.” She laughed when he raised a brow, skeptical. “I really am,” she shrugged.

“Are we going to talk about—?” 

“No,” she said quickly, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them, she smiled. “Not yet, but...”

He smiled back at her, wishing it were easier to 'forgive and forget.' He pushed his feelings aside, breathing in deep. His friend needed him more than he had realized. “We will,” he finished.

[xoxo]

Kurt ended up lying on the couch with a lavender-scented heating pad under his back after being banished from the kitchen once breakfast was over. He'd put on an act of grumbling, feet dragging across the carpet as Blaine led him into the dimly lit living room. Careful not to knock any ornaments off the tree, Blaine had switched the blinking lights on. “Take a nap,” had been his only request. He'd draped a plaid throw over Kurt, pretending to tuck him in. “I'll wake you when it's time to open presents.”

What had actually woken Kurt up was a large, calloused hand creeping under the blanket and his shirt to grope his stomach. If he hadn't grown so used to Blaine's roaming hands, the offender would have been kneed in the face. It had also helped that he'd gotten a good whiff of Finn's cologne before he'd had the chance to lift a leg up. Finn shifted from kneeling on the floor beside him to awkwardly perching on the very edge of the sofa's thick cushions.

Out of nowhere, Kurt was asked about his due date. Finn's cold fingers slowly stroked down the side of his belly, pressing down lightly over a faint stretch mark.

It took Kurt a moment to answer him. Finn was obviously making an attempt at something here. “May,” he replied. “Late May.”

“Oh.” Finn sounded disappointed. “May? Dude, that's like... forever away.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed through a long yawn. He knew that time would fly by, though; they had too much to do by May for it not to. “Uh, do you mind?” Finn's clueless expression only aggravated him further. “Your hand, Finn. Remove it before I start charging.” He wasn't cheap, either.

“Whoa, calm down. I thought this was okay.” Finn's hand received a swift slap after a blind poke at Kurt's navel. He drew it back, growing defensive. “Blaine's the one who was, like, surgically attached to you all through breakfast.” He'd made a joke to Burt about Blaine camping out under Kurt's top.

“He is the father.” Ah, well. Kurt frowned. He was the father. Blaine was... the other father, or something. He rubbed at his eyes again. They'd work on all that later. Nothin' but details. “He is also the one with a lawyer for a best friend, and I know he and Wes are big dorks who think they're hilarious enough to write up a fake fetal custody agreement if I don't let him near me.” 

Kurt's sarcastic tone completely flew over Finn's head. “Is that even legal?”

An uncomfortable silence settled in-between them. Kurt was desperately biting back any retorts about Finn's unnerving obliviousness; 'If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all.' They were both trying too hard to “causally (no underlying tension here, nope!)” stare at the Christmas tree. 

“May, though. Huh.”

“Yeah. May.”

Finn shot him a sideways glance. “A physical therapist I work with, uh. She's having a baby in April, middle-ish April. You two seem pretty close in, uh, size for being over a month apart.”

“Wow.” Kurt felt it wasn't his responsibility to explain different body types and circumstances to his stepbrother. As if he'd retain the information, anyway (Kurt would later chide at himself for the mental putdowns). “I feel really great after hearing that.”

“Oh. So you're not having twins?”

He should have kneed him in the freakin' face when he had the chance. “No,” he said flatly. “As great as I am at multitasking, there's just the one.”

Finn rushed out another displeased, “Oh.” He picked a string of silver tinsel off the throw on Kurt's lap. He pinched it between his fingers, pulling from both ends until it snapped in half. “How about the sex?”

“The sex?” Kurt felt a burst of warmth in his cheeks, nearly asking his stepbrother if he had Irish'd up the three cups of coffee he'd had at breakfast. He couldn't help but to be wary of Finn's sudden change in attitude regarding his “weird” pregnancy. 

“Yeah, am I getting a niece or a nephew?” Finn's genuine interest matched his wide, honest smile. His enthusiasm wasn't an act; it was part of an attempt at an apology for his earlier behavior. 

“You'll find out with the rest of us in May.” It was killing Kurt that Quinn had the amniocentesis results. Not only did she know the sex of his baby, but she also knew not to disclose that particular information with him. “Blaine doesn't want to know.”

Finn squinted at Kurt, suspicious. “But you do.” Kurt squirmed, adjusting the thick blanket up and over his shoulders. Finn leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “You want to know.”

“I—I want what Blaine wants.” Kurt looked up, startled when Finn sat back farther. He pulled out his cellphone from a pocket, smirking.

“I have an idea.”

Despite his curiosity, Kurt doubted there was an app that moonlighted as ultrasound equipment and could identify a fetus' genitals. He was in the middle of voicing that very opinion when Finn cut him off with a request for “a string and ring.” Thumbs sliding over his phone's slide-out keyboard, he then asked for the date of conception.

“Um, uh?”

“I only need the month,” he said after a lengthy pause where all Kurt could do was sputter out nonsensical sounds. “Not asking for a play-by-play.”

Kurt's knee tingled where it should have smacked into Finn's stupid nose. He huffed out, “You're kidding me.”

As if there wasn't an old wives' tale for gender prediction he hadn't already tried out, ha! 

[xoxo]

Blaine, with pruney fingers from scrubbing his way through a sink full of dishes (he'd taken over for Finn after encouraging his future brother-in-law to patch things up with Kurt sooner rather than later), walked into the living room in time to hear Kurt demand his ring back from Finn's clutches. He caught sight of the said ring, and laughed. Finn had tied a long strand of tinsel to it.

“Do I even want to know?” He was already certain of the answer (hell to the no). Solemn as ever, Kurt slowly shook his head.

“Finn's trying to predict the baby's sex,” he explained. Blaine smiled, adoring Kurt's natural ability to look amused while sounding utterly bored and monotonous.

Finn turned around to face Blaine, dangling the ring in front of Kurt. “If we go with the ring test, you're having a girl.” Kurt used the moment of distraction to snatch his precious ring out from Finn's grasp. “But it's a boy if we match up Kurt's age and the month of holy conception to the Chinese lunar calendar.”

“Right.” Kurt rolled his eyes, using the hem of his shirt to rub Finn's fingerprint smudges off the piece of jewelry Blaine had bought for him during their freshmen year of college. “Unsurprisingly, his test results are inconclusive.” 

Finn scoffed out, “My results are not inconclusive.” Blaine quickly moved to sit down between them on the couch, resting a heavy hand over Kurt's restlessly bouncing knee. “They're incomplete because someone refuses to participate in a little tiebreaker.”

It was Kurt's turn to scoff. “I am not taking my shirt off for you,” he shouted too loudly. “Blaine, make him stop. He referred to me as 'mommy,' and I will vomit on the nearest person, you, if that word is directed at me ever again. Are we clear?”

“But, but you are a mah—” Finn never knew when to shut up. A change in subject was desperately needed.

“My mom just called,” Blaine uttered suddenly. He really didn't want to be thrown up on. “She and my dad are on their way over now.”

“On their way over... where? Here?” He nodded. Kurt was nearly knocked speechless. Blaine's parents were people of habit; they definitely weren't the type to easily change traditional plans. “Really? But don't they always go to your uncle's for Christmas?”

“They do, but I guess we have something my uncle's doesn't.” Kurt quizzically tilted his head to the side, a smile slowly lighting up his face. Blaine gave another nod to a question that hadn't been asked, squeezing Kurt's knee.

“Dude,” Finn butted in. “Your uncle lives in a huge-ass mansion. Hey Kurt, remember that one year when we had to stop in so you could exchange presents with Blaine? Their dinner's catered up the wazoo. What's here that they can't eat there?”

“Wow,” Blaine and Kurt drew out together. Kurt was grateful for Blaine holding down his knee or else it really would have rocketed off in Finn's direction. Blaine spoke up before him.

“Uh, Finn. You... you do know the holidays aren't just about food, right?”

There was a contorted mixture of surprise and confusion scribbled all over his face, much too raw to have been faked even a little. It might have dawned on him, what had been implied. Either way, he laughed it off. “Food is everything.”

Kurt hummed, his hand finding its way over to Blaine's. “He isn't wrong,” he agreed dreamily. Blaine wondered if, instead of hearts, he'd see tacos if he looked into Kurt's eyes. Kurt shot Finn down before he had a chance to get excited. “Not about that,” he snapped in his best “bitch, please” tone. “I'm still not taking off my shirt. You're going to have to settle for 'inconclusive.'”

“Or, or—what if, like, both tests are right? How sure are you that it's not twins?”

It took more than Blaine's hand to hold Kurt back from physically hurting his stepbrother.

[xoxo]

Kurt and Blaine treated themselves to a delightfully lazy morning on their last day in Lima. Quiet and naked under the sheets, they stayed in bed until close to noon with the heat cranked up.

Blaine kissed each finger on Kurt's right hand, eyes closing shut as he mouthed at the inside of his wrist. His lips stroked upward, reaching the warm crook of Kurt's elbow. “I miss this,” he whispered into the smooth skin there. “We have to, need to fit in another trip before the baby's born, even if it's just a weekend getaway.”

Kurt knew they'd have to play that by ear. Not that he wasn't all for it, or that he was being pessimistic. Not irrationally pessimistic, at least, since something always (fine, whatever, slight exaggeration—almost always) had to come up at the last possible minute to ruin any plans they'd managed to find time for. “Let's do something special for Valentine's Day,” he said suddenly. “It's going to be our last one as an unmarried, childless couple.”

In exactly a year, they would be newlyweds with a six-month-old baby. “Extra special,” he agreed. Kurt drew in a sharp sigh when Blaine's hand slid across his chest, his thumb brushing over a nipple. Blaine noticed his reaction, of course, and Kurt wasn't fond of his mischievous grin.

“Oh, no.” Blaine sunk back, watching Kurt's throat as he lowered his head. He slowly dragged his tongue across the darkened flesh, back and forth. Blaine's leg hooked over the tops of Kurt's trembling thighs, his hips bucking up. He gently sucked the nipple into his mouth, flattening his tongue over it. Kurt shoved hard at his shoulder, grabbing a tight fistful of his hair at the same time. “Blaine,” he warned. Or begged, neither of them were sure.

“More or less?” Blaine's fingers slid through Kurt's.

“Less of that, more of...” Mindful of the creaking bedsprings beneath them (no wonder Burt refused to replace the old mattress; it effectively served as a 'damn, be quiet' reminder), Kurt rolled over onto his side. Blaine followed the movement without question, pressing up against and into him from behind. “Yeah,” Kurt exhaled, his eyes squeezing shut. “That,” he eagerly encouraged. 

“Should I—?” Blaine nuzzled into Kurt's shoulder, “or are you still—?”

“Yeah.”

A burst of booming voices carried over from the room on the other side of the wall behind Kurt's bed. A jumpy Blaine accidentally pulled all the way out, to which Kurt reacted by actually biting into his pillow. Blaine patted his hip as they listened to the muffled sounds of Finn and Rachel arguing. 

“If your parents didn't know something was up before, they do now.” If anything, the fighting only confirmed Carole and Burt's suspicions. Blaine got off the bed to rummage through the top dresser drawer for clothes. He slipped into a pair of corduroy pants.

Kurt flipped onto his back to bend one knee up to his chest, holding it there for a stretch. He had tried to get Rachel to open up to him, but her lips were locked about the divorce even after he'd gotten a few cups of spiked eggnog in her. All she had done that night was excitedly prattle on and on and on about her play, and all Kurt had done that night was will himself away from Burt's liquor cabinet. Goddamned FAS. “Yet Finn hasn't had any problems with spilling his guts to you.” 

Blaine pulled on his new cardigan, a fabulous Christmas gift from Kurt, over a white t-shirt. He looked down as he played with the thick, round buttons. “But,” he stated calmly, “he hasn't really 'spilled' all that much to me.”

“You know more than I do.” It had gotten on Kurt's last nerve how Finn had to go and revolve every conversation he'd tried to start up about his pregnancy and the baby. That was it, there wasn't anything else Finn wanted to talk to him about. “Do you think they'll go through with it?”

“I don't know,” was Blaine's truthful answer. He only knew that it'd all started with a lie. “What do you think it was, the thing she went behind his back to do?”

Kurt stared up at the ceiling, unable to fathom a simple guess. He had nothin'. His response was also a frustrated, “I don't know.” He ducked his head under the covers, realizing how much he and Rachel had managed to drift apart after he'd chosen fashion over theater. “Hey, Blaine?”

“Yeah?” Carrying one ankle sock while wearing the other, Blaine sat back down on the bed.

Kurt touched a hand to his stomach. “Happy New Year.”

Over the quilt, one of Blaine's hands managed to find and settle over Kurt's. “Happy New Year, Kurt.”

[xoxo]


	4. Chapter 4

[xoxo]

Blaine was leaving a patient's room to wash his hands after putting in an IV when he heard the clicking of heels stop short behind him. He grinned; he'd recognize that swagger anywhere. He spun around as Santana, who'd clocked out early from her shift over fifteen minutes ago, passed by. His gaze instantly fell upon Kurt, not Santana in her shimmery bustier and hotpants. 

Santana came close to walking into an over-filled linen cart after doing a double-take at the boatneak sweater Kurt wore under an unfastened toggle coat. She screwed up her face in disgust, feeling personally offended by the ruffled collar and eggplant purple color. “That is the ugliest effin' shirt I have ever seen,” she remarked bluntly.

“And that is...” The intensity of Kurt's smile refused to lessen, not even in the seconds it would take to exchange insults with Santana. “I can't even hate. You look fabulous, darling, if slightly inappropriately dressed for work.” He shrugged, “But who am I to judge? Nurse away.”

“Yeah, right. I'm out, 'bout to go get my dance on with a new lady friend.” She took small backward steps, blowing them each a kiss. “Be jealous, boys.”

Blaine took Kurt's hand and squeezed it, patiently waiting for Santana to smoothly twirl out of sight before tugging him forward. He looped an arm through Kurt's, leading him into an empty room. He swished the thick curtain all the way to one side, closing them off from the rest of the department. He turned around to circle his arms around Kurt's waist, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “You're happy.” He touched their noses together. “It's a good look on you.”

“I am happy,” Kurt admitted excitedly once he'd scored another kiss. He touched the side of Blaine's face, sweeping a thumb down his cheek. “Baby, you would not believe the day I've had. It's seriously been the best ever, and it's all because of this hideous sweater.”

Blaine guessed by the ruched sides that it was a paternity top. “And who do you have to thank the sweater for?” Kurt bit his bottom lip, pretending to think Blaine's question over.

“Your credit card, but also our inspirational fetus.” 

“'Inspirational,' you say? And at only five months months.” Blaine's eyes flicked up from watching Kurt's mouth. “I'm hardly surprised.”

“Naturally. I mean, really. We have so many... great genes to pass on.” He wasn't sure if 'great' was even a strong enough word. Kurt stepped back, dragging both of Blaine's warm hands under his sweater to rest over his hips. Blaine pinched at the demi panel to his paternity jeans. “Can you imagine all the talent she must have to choose from?” He deepened his voice, “Ain't no slim pickings there.”

“Ah! And with our genes combined, we will birth the Earth's greatest champion.” Kurt fixed him with a long look. “What? It's—” A finger was pressed over Blaine's lips.

“Right, OK. I am going to let whatever reference that was to fly over my head, and continue on with my good news.” He faked a gasp, “Oh? Did I not mention I have good news?” Kurt leaned in, eyebrows arched high. “Hi.” He paused to smile when Blaine mouthed back a similar greeting. “I have good news.”

“You do, do you?” His hands slid up Kurt's sides, and then back down to his waist.

Kurt breathed in deeply. “As you may recall, I had a small... somewhat of an outburst this morning—”

“Right,” he said slowly. Blaine thought about all the clothes that had been strewn about their bedroom. “''Cause all of your shirts were too—”

“I remember exactly why, thank you.” Kurt took another deep breath, flicking stray strands of hair away from his eyes. He'd forgotten his travel-sized hairspray in a desk drawer at work. He mumbled what almost sounded like an apology. “Anyway, there's this newish boutique I've been...” He rolled his eyes. “Meaning to check out, I guess. It looks like it's called The Maternal Closet, but the 'M' is transformed into a 'P,' too. I guess that's their way of being—”

“'The _Mmpphh_ -ternal Closet'?”

Kurt ignored him. “I'd been put off by the shop's ever so tacky awning; totally figured it was an accurate representation of what they sold, and... Well, believe you me when I say this—” He plucked at his sweater's hopeless collar. “Was one of the... least 'fugliest' shirts in there.”

“Oh... oh, my.” Blaine tried to give Kurt his undivided attention, but he was also kind of really hoping none of his patients were dying at the moment. 

“I had to make do.” He had known he would only need it to get through the day, so he'd closed his eyes and bought the shirt. Thankfully, it was Friday. Blaine had the weekend off, a rarity that wasn't to be wasted, and he'd promised Kurt they would go shopping together after his Saturday morning prenatal yoga class. Kurt shook his head, focusing back on his adventure. He explained he'd taken the elevator instead of the stairs once he'd gotten to work and changed since he had been close to running late. “This is it! We are at the climax of my story, Blaine.” He clapped his hands together, lightly. “It was the turning point, the turning point of my life.”

Forehead furrowing, Blaine looked uncomfortable as he glanced down at Kurt's stomach. He asked flatly, “Getting in an elevator was the 'turning point' of your life?”

“Buckley, my boss? The head honcho? He was in there.” Kurt pulled one of Blaine's hands from off his body. He held on to it, his grip tight. “It was only the two of us, and I was just so overwhelmed with ruffly frustration, so when he asked me—he, he asked me...” He blinked hard, mouth falling open. “Something, he asked me something. I can't remember what, but I went off about how ridiculous it is that there's such a limited selection for paternity fashion.” He kissed the back of Blaine's hand. “After lunch, Buckley called me into his office. He's interested in at least looking into different paternity wear lines for some of the retail branches to maybe carry if there's enough demand, and we went over a few designers. Sure, it's not at all definite, but! He wanted my opinion, Blaine. The boss wanted _my_ opinions.”

“Wow, that's... wow.” Letting out a bubbly laugh, Blaine moved in to hug him. Kurt's giddiness was infectious. “I mean, it's—wow.” 

“It is all very 'wow.' I finally feel like I belong there, like there's a real chance they could hire me.” He sighed airily, “Janice gave me the stink-eye all afternoon. It was lovely.” 

A tornado of questions rampaged through Blaine's mind. It'd been talked about, what they would do if Kurt was let go once the internship for the assistant position ended. It was suddenly clear to Blaine that they should never have stopped focusing on their plans for what would happen if the fashion house decided to keep him. He plastered a big smile on his face for his fiancé. “You're amazing, Kurt. I knew it'd be only a matter of time until they realized what's been shining brilliantly under their... perfectly reshaped noses this whole time.”

“'Shining brilliantly'?” Kurt somehow blushed while maintaining a smug expression. “Oh, oh. You mean...” He shrugged out a shoulder to show off the piece of jewelry pinned to his shirt. It was shiny, and he'd hoped it would distract people from judging him for the sweater. “This brooch?”

“You, silly. Your potential. Like I said, you're amazing. Nothing less.” Blaine wanted the words to sink in, wanted to be flashed with that ol' cocky smirk Kurt wore so well. If he had to, he would repeat them until he was blue in the face. “I wish we could go out and celebrate now,” he sighed. “I've still got another three hours to put in, babe.” 

Kurt bobbed his head from side to side. “I know,” he said. “I'm going to go catch a late yoga class, then meet Quinn for a drink.” He leaned in to kiss Blaine's cheek before pinching it lightly. “I suppose I could wait for you in the lobby. If you're lucky, I might even have a medium drip with your name on it.”

“Well, make sure my name is on it in capital letters this time.”

Kurt pinched his cheek again, but harder. “Does it really matter? My lips still can't read, sorry.” It was the thought that counted, anyway. “See you in three?”

Unsurprisingly, Blaine's pager interrupted him with beeping noises. He turned it off, pushing up to kiss Kurt on the mouth at the same time. Too distracted, he missed his target. “See you in three,” he confirmed. 

[xoxo]

Rather than in the main lobby, Blaine found Kurt sitting alone at an eight-person table in the hospital's cafeteria. He all but collapsed into the seat across from him, nearly draining the cup of hot coffee that had been waiting there for him in one go. Kurt dug his fingernails into the thick skin of an orange, blankly staring straight over Blaine's shoulder. 

“I may have inadvertently set Quinn and Finn up,” he stated gloomily through a sour wince. “I just sat there, knocking back Shirley Temples while they undressed each other with their eyes in front of my unborn child.” Subtlety was neither Finn nor Quinn's forte, apparently. “I can say it wasn't the longest, most awkward hour of my life. Top five, though. Definitely.”

Blaine set down his drink, popping off the plastic lid to stir the contents with a red straw. “Finn? Where'd he come from?”

“Uh, he'd come out of just about freakin' nowhere. I literally ran into him on my way to that stupid bar Quinn likes so much.” Honestly, Kurt expected higher standards from a doctor. “He wouldn't stop talking, so I kept on walking. I couldn't not invite him along after he'd followed me there.” Kurt added that Finn had insisted on taking the first sip on any drinks made for him to make sure the bartender hadn't accidentally poured in any alcohol. “She ate that up, thought it was 'so sweet.'”

Lifting the cup up to his mouth, Blaine smiled. “That is... kind of sweet. Oh, come on. For Finn, it is kind of sweet.” Under the table, he tapped his foot into Kurt's. “Yeah?”

“I don't care about what's 'sweet.' I care about where the hands that are going to deliver my baby have been!”

Blaine snorted loudly, but any laughter quickly died in his throat when he saw that Kurt was genuinely distraught over the thought of his stepbrother and OB/GYN doctor possibly hooking up. “Kurt, it's OK.” He pried Kurt's tense fingers out of the citrus fruit, wanting to hold onto his hand (even if it was sticky). “Finn never stopped loving Rachel, and she... has yet to sign the papers. There's still something there.” 

“If you say so,” Kurt muttered glumly. His eyes fell down to their hands, lips parting slightly to let out a small sigh. “Home?”

“Home,” Blaine agreed. He withdrew his hand from Kurt's, wishing there was something he could do or say to put Kurt back in the giddy mood he'd been in earlier. 

Kurt stood up, pulling down on the sides of the tight t-shirt he had changed into for yoga class. He bent down to pick up his leather satchel, pausing mid-way. “Oh,” he gasped. “Blaine, oh. Give me your hand.”

Blaine knocked over his coffee, pushing back in his chair. Kurt stepped forward, impatiently guiding Blaine's hand to the side of his belly. They were both very still and quiet for a moment, waiting. 

“Come on, you.” Kurt pushed Blaine's hand away, prodding at his stomach. He blinked rapidly, his eyes welling with tears. “She kicked. It, it wasn't that bubbly feeling. She kicked... kind of hard, actually. Come on.”

Walking out to the employee parking garage took twice as long with an anxious Blaine orbiting around Kurt with his arms stretched out. Luckily, Kurt was more amused than annoyed. “You're a goof,” he chuckled. “You're ridiculous.”

Blaine rubbed his hands together. “One way or another,” he proclaimed stubbornly. 

“Yeah, it's probably for the best if I drive.” Kurt shoved a hand under his shoulder bag's buckled flap, feeling around inside for his set of car keys. Blaine spent the entire ride to their apartment struggling against the passenger side seat belt. He'd felt it necessary to sit so that he was facing Kurt, wanting (it was more than that, needing) to be within an arms reach and to fully admire the smile on Kurt's face. 

[xoxo]

Kurt padded out from the bathroom, hair still damp and skin brightly flushed pink from the hot shower he'd taken, only to find Blaine holding up a measuring tape band in one hand and a digital camera in the other. Kurt's nervous gaze erratically twitched up and down from Blaine's innocent grin to the seemingly ominous tapeline and camera. He gulped silently, waiting for the inevitable punchline.

“Shirt off, arms up.”

Nuh-uh. Kurt's arms remained down at his sides. He stuck out his chin, “You sweet talking me or is this a hold up?”

“Cute. Actually, I ordered a baby book off Amazon.” It'd caught his eye, a yellow keepsake memory book with a polka-dotted border. With free two-day shipping, he hadn't been able to help himself. It had reminded him of his own, a checkered one with a fluffy golden retriever puppy on the front. His hadn't had any pictures in it, though, and the updates stopped around the time he was six months old.

“You bought a baby book.” Kurt looked dubious, but sounded intrigued. Blaine looked down at his feet, explaining in very few words how he wanted to keep tabs of Kurt's, ahem, expanding waistline.

“I thought we could take pictures for the book. To look back on, you know? Yeah, maybe?” The 'please, please, pretty please' was left unsaid, but greatly understood with the hopeful gleam in Blaine's eyes.

Kurt made a thoughtful humming noise, brushing his arm into Blaine's as he moved around him to grab a pair of black socks off the top of his dresser. “I will agree,” he decided firmly, “as long as you sign off on my terms and conditions.”

“Your 'terms and conditions,'” Blaine parroted curiously. “Go on,” he urged. 

Kurt carefully took small backward steps until the backs of his knees bumped into the side of their unmade bed. “Any and all pictures of me must have my seal of approval before you print them out, and I want say on image placement in this... book. Ah, and every caption must be submitted to me for approval before they are written in.” There was a sudden spurt of wetness under him; Kurt flinched, realizing he had just sat down on an opened bottle of lube. “Please allow seven to ten days per authorization for processing,” he rattled off distractedly. 

“Oh, is that all?”

Shaking his head minutely, Kurt stood up to push down his pants. “I'll have—” His eyelids fluttered, the ground softening under his feet. Kurt staggered to the side, touching a hand to his forehead. He reached out for Blaine's shoulder. The tape measure and digital camera in Blaine's hands dropped to the floor, a crack splitting through a corner of the latter's LCD screen upon impact.

“Hey! Hey, Kurt? Kurt!” Gingerly, Kurt was maneuvered back onto the bed. He croaked out an annoyed groan at the return of a cold dampness under his rear end. Blaine kneeled down in-between his knees, hands patting up his stomach before cupping each side of Kurt's head, fingers spread. The pads of his thumbs traced across the skin under Kurt's closed eyes. “You with me?”

He didn't have time for dizziness. Luckily enough, it hadn't lingered much longer. “I need to get changed,” he grumbled. “Someone didn't put back the cap—oh, fine.” His eyes snapped open. “Kick away, my god.” He tugged on Blaine's hands, moving them down to the side of his belly. “Here,” he whispered. “Yeah?”

Blaine quieted, the lines in his forehead deepening. He sat back, impatiently pushing up Kurt's shirt over his stomach. Holding in a breath, he pressed his hand back to where it'd just been. Kurt watched his face, smiling when Blaine's eyes bugged and his jaw slacked. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Do it again.”

“'S not a puppet trick.” 

A laugh that very well could have been described as a giggle rushed out of Blaine's gaping mouth. He stroked his fingertips over where he'd felt the movement, leaning down. 'I... love... you,' he mouthed between pressing kisses to Kurt's stomach. He could smell the cocoa butter cream Kurt had rubbed into his skin after showering. Blaine looked up, “Why don't you lie down while I cook breakfast?”

Kurt grunted, smoothing out wrinkles once he yanked his shirt down. “I don't have the... I can't. Honey, please. I have to get to this shoot, and I already need to change out of these pants.” He wasn't happy about messing with his outfit's color scheme; he would definitely have to switch out an accessory to two to make it work. 

“Yeah, you know what? Before I start on that breakfast, I want to take your blood pressure.” He pretended not to hear Kurt's exasperated huff. Blaine glanced around their bedroom for his stethoscope and sphygmomanometer. “Sorry, but I can't let you rush out of here after almost faceplanting.”

“I did not—” Arguing was useless, a fact Kurt realized as a purple blood pressure cuff that he hadn't seen since Blaine was a nursing student was snugly wrapped around his upper arm. Blaine kissed the bend of Kurt's elbow before feeling for the brachial pulse with his middle and ring finger, and then slid the diaphragm over it. Watching Blaine squeeze the bulb, Kurt bit his lip. “I know you can pump quicker than that.”

Blaine ignored that, too. He concentrated on the gauge, slowly loosening the screw on the side of the two-tube bladder. Kurt rolled his eyes, listening to the hissing sound of air leaking out of the cuff. Blaine clicked his tongue, “Ninety-eight over fifty-four.”

“I don't know what you were expecting. We already know I have low blood pressure.” It'd been 108/66 during his last appointment with Quinn, but something like 103/56 at the one before that. She had told him to expect his blood pressure to drop to its lowest point around the middle of his pregnancy, and that it should gradually return to its regular level by the time the baby came. “If you don't mind, I really do need to get out of these pants.”

“Why? You look—” Kurt leaned onto his side, giving Blaine a glimpse of the wet spot on his derriere. Blaine's hand was slapped away for attempting to go near it. “What the—” He wore such an honest look of quizzical alarm, Kurt hadn't been able to keep a straight face. He nudged the slick, empty tube of lube into Blaine's lap. “Oh. Say, how many jokes do you think I can get in before—”

“None! Out, now.” He snapped his fingers over his head, index finger pointing out at their closed bedroom door. “I want a spinach omelet, freshly squeezed orange juice, and an English muffin with strawberry jam waiting for me when I get out there, okay? I can't be late, Blaine. I can't.”

“I'm on it.” He loudly smacked his lips to the center of Kurt's forehead, gripping his shoulders. “Take your time. Don't get up too quickly, don't hurry around, just...” Blaine sighed wearily, “Take your time. Please?”

He hooked two fingers into the collar of Blaine's t-shirt, tugging him down for a kiss. His tongue darted out briefly, running along his bottom lip. Only when their tongues slid together, Kurt pulled back. “I can—I will. I am,” he promised. “Thank you.”

Blaine cooked up the omelet (big enough for the three of them), squeezed out some juice from several oranges, and prepared two toasted English muffins for him. He held out a fork for Kurt to take, smiling hesitantly. Albeit reluctantly, Kurt accepted the silverware. “I wanted to talk to you about... Dr. Fabray.”

Kurt tore the top half of an English muffin into two pieces. “Not this again.”

“I'm sorry, but I still think you should be seeing a doctor who specializes in male pregnancies.” He sipped from Kurt's glass of orange juice. “I know you're more comfortable with Dr. Fabray, but—”

“There isn't any 'but.' I am not switching doctors now, Blaine.” He used a butter knife to scrape most of the jam off the split muffin. “I'm more than halfway through this, so maybe you should have tried harder to convince and/or blackmail me weeks ago.”

“Except I would never blackmail you,” he pointed out. What Blaine wanted to add was, “And I shouldn't have to 'convince' you to do something that's better for both you and the baby.” As much as he wanted to avoid another argument, he couldn't let it go. “I've worked with her, Kurt. You know how much I trust and respect her, but you are her first and only male patient.”

“Don't say it like that.” It wasn't that long ago Quinn was only a med student. He stabbed the fork into his omelet, grinding the tines into the ceramic plate. “I don't want another doctor,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“Fine, you don't want another doctor. Fine. Okay, so you can tell me—you can honestly tell me that you believe Dr. Fabray is the best doctor for you?” Again, Blaine would never consider blackmailing Kurt. Guilt tripping, however, was fair game. He stilled Kurt's hand from scratching the dish with the fork, his fingers circling around his wrist. “The best doctor,” he repeated while locking eye contact with Kurt, “For our baby?”

“If you're trying to raise my blood pressure by aggravating me, it's working.” Blaine withdrew his hand, his pained frowned dragging out a sigh and apology from Kurt. “Yes,” he snapped without any heat behind his words. “I know Quinn doesn't have much experience built up under that drab lab coat, but yes. She's smart, a quick thinker, and doesn't sugarcoat anything; she's honest with me, whether or not I want her to be. I trust her with our care, I trust her to know what to do if anything goes wrong, so yes. I can honestly tell you that I believe Quinn is the best doctor for us.” 

That was all he'd wanted to know. Blaine had pushed out of his chair once Kurt's voice had started to crack. He'd scolded himself, gathering a tense Kurt into his arms. He shushed the second apology to spill from Kurt's mouth, rubbing his hand up and down his back. 

“I'm late,” Kurt eventually complained into Blaine's shoulder. Blaine slid his hand around to grope the front of Kurt's belly through his shirt. 

“You've been late for a while.” That remark earned him not only a chuckle, but also a sharp pinch to his side. He finally parted away from his fiancé, silently urging him to finish his meal by gesturing the plate of picked-at food.

Kurt picked up the fork. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“No,” Blaine said softly. “Thank you.”

[xoxo]

Thanks to his relief's early start, Blaine spent the last fifteen minutes of his shift in the nurse manager's office with the door shut and blinds drawn. He spun around in a high-back chair, whistling a tune close to “What's New, Pussycat?” While waiting for his updated schedule to print, he patted around for his cell phone to check to see if there were any new messages from Kurt. 

“Um.” Aside from the crinkled Starburst and Jolly Rancher wrappers, his pockets were empty. “Um, shit.” He rocked forward, elbows resting over his knees, and groaned into his hands. He was too tired to even think about retracing his steps from throughout the day; he'd been all around the hospital. Blaine tried to remember when he'd last used the cell phone, snapping his fingers once he vaguely recalled sending Kurt a text asking what he'd like for dinner while he'd been... He hurried out of the office, sprinting toward the nurse's station.

“Lose something?” Santana, dressed in ceil blue hospital-issued scrubs after a patient had thrown up on her in the ambulance bay that morning, hadn't bothered to toss a glance in Blaine's direction from where she sat in the unit secretary's chair. His gaze fell down to his phone in her hands. She ignored his huffing and puffing, yawning as her thumb continued to slide across the cell phone's lit screen. “What a boring-ass fetish you gots going on. Let's be real, do you really need all this photographic evidence that the dough you slid into your boyf's oven is baking?” She turned the phone onto its side to flip an image, tilting her head slightly. “I guess it is rising quite nicely.”

Blaine drew in a deep breath. He'd have to change his passcode. Again. “Give me that, please.” 

“I guess it is also mesmerizing how... like, perfectly round his stomach is.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Goddamn, it's almost as adorable as it is disturbing.”

He grabbed the cell phone out of her hands, snapping out her name heatedly. “There's nothing 'disturbing—'”

Santana shuddered. “Yeah, pregnancy has always given me the heebie-jeebies.” She patted his forearm. “Your man totally rocks the pooch, though.”

“Don't... gosh,” he sighed. Blaine paused to stare at the picture she'd stopped at. It'd been taken about a week ago, one of Kurt stirring the contents of a purple mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. It had been taken from the side, emphasizing the curve of Kurt's growing belly. He smiled fondly, “That's my baby in there.”

“OK, enough of that. One of my ovaries just exploded.” If watching Blaine gush over his unborn offspring set off her biological clock, Santana decided she would thump him over the head with it until the ticking stopped. “Whatever. Aren't you done now?”

“Just about.” Blaine circled the tip of his thumb around the 'home' button before pressing down on it. He was pleased by the little numbers informing him he had a dozen text messages in his inbox, but frowned when he saw that none of them were from Kurt. “Or not. Kurt's been in a... mood all week. He won't really talk to me, except to—”

“Hey there, Blaine.” Blaine twisted around, lifting his hand for a wave while nodding his head in acknowledgment at the third-year medical student standing behind him. Holding a clipboard to his chest, Sebastian took too-wide of a step forward. “Long time no see. Wow, you know I can't even remember the last time I saw you at the bar. Where've you been hiding?” 

Blaine shrugged, not knowing what bar Sebastian was referring to. He guessed he might have run into him at some place with Kurt or maybe a friend. “Oh, uh. Nowhere. Kurt's had an aversion to even just the smell of alcohol—”

Santana coughed hoarsely into the side of her fist, “And douchebags.”

“So,” Blaine said slowly. He side-eyed Santana, eyebrows knitting together. “We've been mostly staying home.” 

“That's tough,” Sebastian said, clicking his tongue sympathetically. He watched patiently as Blaine poked at his phone, taking his time in giving Blaine an appreciative once-over. “Looking tense there, buddy. Yeah, you definitely look like you could use a... release.” Santana snapped her gum loudly, snorting. She exhaled sharply, the small wad of gum falling out of her mouth at Blaine's nonchalant reply of, “I could.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought about getting back into boxing,” he admitted. “But I really should cherish any extra energy or free time I can get before the baby gets here.” He pocketed a cherry lollipop he'd taken out of the candy dish and the sparkly lanyard his RN badge was clipped to. “Oh!” He gasped excitedly. “I do have a new picture to show you. We had a 3D ultrasound done last—”

Sebastian cringed, his signature smarmy smirk dropping off his face. “Yeah, I've got to go.” He turned his attention over to Santana, angling his body away from Blaine's. “Somebody ordered a psych consult?” 

“Check the board,” she snapped. She waited until he was almost out of hearing distance before making a face and cursing. “He wants your dick so bad, it's pathetic.” 

“Um?” Blaine squeaked, squaring his shoulders. “No, no. Santana, that's—he's not, he doesn't, doesn't want... that, he's... Um.”

“How have you not noticed the hungry, hungry hippo trying to get into your pants? Smythe's been circling around you like a... horny, horny vulture since his ER rotation.” Despite the intense tingling she felt in her hands to point a finger in Blaine's face, Santana crossed her arms over her chest. “Wow, OK. So, does Kurt get as annoyed as I do with how painfully oblivious and naïve you can be, or does he get off on it?”

Only once, Blaine drummed one finger after another against the outer edge of the desk. “You were right,” he said hastily. “I am done here.” 

Santana scoffed. One thing those soapy medical dramas got right about hospitals was all the raging infidelity between employees. There was a small, mostly unused outpatient physical therapy gym on the fifth floor that saw a lot of action. It housed cold and hot pack hydrocollators, but was mostly filled with out-dated medical equipment. If the parallel bars could talk, they would probably beg to be bleached. She would know; she'd fooled around with plenty of married doctors in there. “Take your head out of the clouds,” she admonished. Although he was a relentless go-getter, Sebastian needed to be put in his place. “Nip that hard-on in the bud before—”

“Before what?” He frowned. “I wouldn't,” he insisted offensively, “I would never cheat on Kurt. I'm not like that. I'm not like you.”

Santana shrugged off the accusation. “Shit happens.”

He gaped at her, but there wasn't anything left to say. The conversation was over. He didn't care about Sebastian, and that was that. He left without saying another word, needing to grab his wallet and keys out of his locker in the nurse's lounge. It was time to get out of there, time to go home, to forget the hospital existed until morning when his alarm clock would once again remind him he'd have to go back. 

[xoxo]

On his way home, Blaine's cellphone buzzed and buzzed with texts from the girlfriend of a friend who was away on a tour. He skimmed the messages, his grin growing wider and wider with each capitalized word. She had news about how the last few dates of the tour were canceled due to a sudden death in the headlining singer's immediate family, so Mike would be heading home over a month earlier than they'd expected. He skipped too hurriedly up the stairs leading to his apartment with Kurt, nearly stumbling because he was busily typing a response to Tina with all exclamation marks.

He unlocked the door, chuckling giddily. “Hey baby,” he called out merrily. “Guess what?” Blaine bent down to unlace his boots, brushing off clumps of snow onto the vinyl mat beneath his feet. “Guess what?” He sang out again after not receiving any kind of response or welcome. He yelled out Kurt's name as he hung his jacket up on the rack mounted to the back of the door. Rubbing his hands together, he made his way across the room to turn up the heat a few degrees on the digital thermostat.

Finn clomped out of the kitchen, holding up a half-eaten slice of pizza to his grease-slick mouth. Blaine stared blankly at the smear of tomato sauce on his nose. “Hey, good timing! Dinner just got here, help yourself.” He paused to finally swallow down the bite of food he'd been talking around. “Kurt bribed me with pizza and garlic bread if I helped him with some heavy lifting. I mean, I would have done it anyway, but who am I to turn down free food?”

Oh. At least Blaine wouldn't have to worry about what to make or order for supper. He glanced into the kitchen before looking around cluelessly, wondering to himself what kind of 'heavy lifting' Kurt had needed to get done (and why he couldn't have waited for him to do it). “What... um, where is Kurt?”

“Uh. The nursery, dude.” There was something about Finn's tone that stamped a 'well, duh' onto the end of his sentence. 

“The nursery?”

“Yeah. He's been in there all day.” Finn was definitely throwing weird looks at him while gobbling down the rest of his pizza.

“But...?” But they'd agreed not to take anything out of or bring anything into the storage room until the middle of next month, right? But Kurt should have only gotten home from work several hours ago, right? Blaine felt the corner of his upper lip curl up as Finn noisily and wetly sucked on the tips of his fingers. He awkwardly excused himself, needing to figure out what was going on with his fiancé. His feet dragged across the carpet. “Kurt?” 

Frozen in the doorway, Blaine's mouth fell open when he saw how much of the storage room had been cleared out. Only three neatly-stacked piles of lidded totes and sturdy cardboard boxes remained, each one labeled and taking up their own corner. Hunched over a wobbly coffee table in the middle of the room, Kurt sat with his legs crossed under him. The floorboards creaked as Blaine stepped forward, but Kurt still wouldn't look up from the sketch he was working on. Blaine rolled his shoulders, leaning his back to the wall opposite of Kurt. He stayed quiet for a while, listening to the sounds of Kurt's drawing utensil scratching across a thick sheet of paper.

“What's going on in here?” He inquired in an exaggerated kindly tone, trying desperately to hold back on how annoyed and hurt he felt about obviously being left out of something. Kurt's hand stilled, the dull tip of his charcoal pencil lifting off the paper mid-stroke. He frowned, the tense lines around his mouth deepening, and shot a quick glare up at the ceiling. 

“Did the heat just turn on?” He asked testily as he used his free hand to fan at his flushed cheeks. 

OK. He was going to give that another go. Blaine took a seat on the floor beside Kurt, the sides of their thighs touching. “What's going on with you?” He playfully nudged Kurt's elbow with his own. “I don't think you answered, like, any of my texts today.”

Kurt set down the pencil, flexing his fingers outward. He drew them in toward his palm, fingernails pressed firmly into the thick skin there. “I've been busy,” he sighed quietly. “This room was such a mess. I didn't realize... I don't know how I let it get so disorganized.”

Blaine thought about the state the room had been in. “I didn't think it was that bad,” he admitted honestly with a shrug.

“Of course you'd think that,” Kurt snorted. He arched his back, bending his arms behind his head to work out the stiffness that had settled in and around his shoulders. He stared off to the side, continuing to avoid any eye contact with Blaine.

“What I'd do?” Blaine set his hand down on Kurt's thigh. He sucked his upper lip into his mouth, growing both baffled and concerned by Kurt's silence. “Kurt, you have to tell me.”

“Oh, I do?” Kurt asked sardonically, snapping his head to the side. Blaine held onto a shallow breath, shrinking back under Kurt's sharp gaze. “Because you don't tell me anything, so if that's really the case, then how about you finally let me in on what's going on with you?”

If Blaine had known his day was going to be full of twists and turns, he would have stayed in bed. “What?” He lightly scratched the back of his neck, the tips of his fingers brushing across the tag in his shirt as they dipped below the collar. “I don't—”

“I talked to your mother this morning.”

“OK? Oh, Kurt, baby.” Blaine couldn't stop the frustrated laugh he'd let out at the fiery daggers being thrown at him with Kurt's narrowed eyes. “Come on, you know how she is. There isn't much to tell; she's been e-mailing me every week since we got back from Ohio about how she's going to fly out for a quick weekend visit. She's canceled on us each time, obviously.” Always at the very last minute, he'd observed, as if she'd suddenly remembered she can't actually be in two places at once.

“'Every week since we got back from Ohio,'” Kurt echoed slowly. “And yet this is the first time I'm hearing about it. Great. Super.”

Blaine grabbed his hand, stroking his fingers against the inside of Kurt's forearm. “You know how she is,” he repeated. “I love my mom, and I know she means well, but it's something she's always done—making plans that she can't commit to.” Kurt rested his other hand over Blaine's, the tension visibly easing from his face after hearing the bitter edge to his tone. Blaine had learned from an early age to not let the disappointment get to him whenever his mother broke another “I'll be there” promise. “I'm sorry. We've got so much going on already, and I know how much you like for everything to be perfect for when our parents drop in, so I figured you didn't need the added stress of 'will she or won't see.'”

Too much wanted to blurt out from Kurt's mouth all at once. He held up a finger. “That's not all.”

Blaine blinked, shaking his head. “It's... not. Of course.”

“She also mentioned some argument between you and your father.” Kurt scrunched his mouth to the side as Blaine groaned, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Which, again, I knew nothing about.”

“It wasn't, no. It's not—”

Kurt cut him off again. “You guys aren't speaking to each other. It is a big deal, Blaine. Why wouldn't you—” His eyes widened, some of the rosy color draining from his cheeks. “It was about me, this.” He looked down. “That's why... He doesn't...?”

Blaine shouted out, “No!” He moved onto his knees, gripping Kurt's shoulder with one hand, the other drifting down to touch over his stomach. “No, no. It's nothing like that, no. It has to do with... well, me. I swear. He, um, he asked me about which last name we'll be going with for the baby and after we get married.”

“He doesn't like the hyphenated name?” 

Blaine flinched. “Uh, no. I may have sort of told him we'd be going with 'Hummel.'”

“But that's not what...” They'd agreed on Anderson-Hummel. Kurt knew his mind was all over the place, especially as of late, but that was something he was certain about. 

“I know, I know, but I just... I'd like to go with yours. Do you have any idea how many times a day I have to sign my name at work? My hand cramps up enough as it is without two last names.” He may or may not have been practicing his _Blaine Hummel, RN_ signature on napkins during lunch. 

Kurt was not amused, not even a tiny bit. “You're kidding me,” he stated flatly. Blaine shrugged, bringing Kurt's hand up to his mouth to kiss the soft ridges of his knuckles. 

“I like your last name.”

“Because it's two letters less than your own?”

Blaine fumbled through another apology. “Forget about it. I don't know why I said that to him.” Kurt opened his mouth, only too look away and silently wet his lips after Blaine waved his hand. “It's not a big deal, I'll stick to the decision we made together.” He pointedly glanced around, whistling. The room seemed much smaller when it was packed full of junk. There was a lot of wall to paint, a lot of floor to re-carpet. “Speaking of sticking to decisions we made together...”

“I don't know what came over me,” Kurt said. “It was like every fiber in my body was shrieking at me, demanding that I empty out this room already.” It had to be done, and he honestly felt as if he hadn't had much say in the matter. He wondered when he would gain back control of his body, feelings, and actions. A tiny kick to his bladder somewhat delivered an answer (not anytime soon, ha!). The distractingly guilty look Blaine continued to wear brought him back into the moment. 

“Are we OK?” Blaine asked worriedly. 

“I'm not exactly thrilled with the lack of communication skills in our relationship right now,” Kurt sighed, “but yeah. But, please...” He turned slightly, reaching up to Blaine's face to cup a warm hand to his cheek. “Please don't start keeping things from me now. I don't want you to ever feel like you can't come to me about anything.” He lowered his hand to squeeze at Blaine's mouth. “Ah-ah, no more apologies.” He pulled at the front of his shirt flirtily, pecking him lightly on the lips. “All I want is your word.”

Blaine gazed at him in wonder, breathing out, “You're amazing.” The near-constant mood swings were definitely keeping him on his toes. 

“I asked for you to make a promise to me, not for you to state the obvious.” 

“You have my word,” he swore. In all their years together, he'd never given Kurt any reason to doubt him. He wasn't about to let anything stir up between them now. “Are you sure we're OK?” He had to ask, not liking the distant look in Kurt's eyes. He was smiling, sure, but... but, the way it seemed forced left Blaine feeling uncomfortable. 

Kurt, again, answered in the positive, though he didn't necessarily sound positive. Blaine stroked his hands down the sides of his stomach, leaning into him.

“You have the cutest belly,” Blaine gushed sweetly. 

“Ugh, you. Stop it,” Kurt groaned. “Go, go eat before there's nothing left.” Blaine bent down to kiss Kurt's stomach, purposely smacking his lips together loudly and drawing out a “mwah” sound. “Blaine Anderson, I don't know what I'm going to do with you.”

Blaine sat back, laughing as he playfully struggled against Kurt's hands to lift up the front of his striped t-shirt. Pregnant or not, he liked stripping Kurt of his clothes. Not usually while Finn was in the other room, though. “That's 'Blaine Anderson-Hummel' to you.” He abruptly swooped down to blow a raspberry against Kurt's belly through the thin material. “And 'daddy' to you.”

“We'll see,” Kurt murmured. He grazed his fingers lovingly over the back of Blaine's head, rolling his eyes and laughing quietly as Blaine babbled to their restless fetus. Up until Blaine had gotten home, he or she had been in the middle of their usual early evening nap (you know, so they were up to do somersaults when it was time for Kurt to fall asleep). Kurt shook his head when he was asked if he'd already eaten. 

“What can I get you?” He asked patiently as Kurt reached across the table for the plastic sharpener to sharpen his discarded pencil. 

“There's rice pudding on the bottom shelf in the fridge. Could you grab me that?” He also requested for Blaine to turn the heat back down, or else he would probably have to crack open a window. 

“Sure thing, babe.” Blaine stopped short of the doorway. “Hey, Kurt?” He asked, turning around. “What... else did my mom have to say this morning?” 

Kurt ducked his head, failing to hide a beautifully sincere smile. “Just that she couldn't make it out for this weekend after all. She said next week's looking good for her, but she'll let us know.” He rolled his eyes again, listening to Blaine's overzealous chuckling as he made his way to the kitchen through their small living room. At least with her trying now, he figured, she would maybe make it out in time during May for the birth.

[xoxo]


	5. Chapter 5

[xoxo]

A strangled cry jolted Blaine out of a dream he'd been having about an ascot tie-wearing, nonsensically toddler-sized infant criticizing his parenting skills in the thickest cockney accent he'd ever heard. He pushed away the layers of thick comforters he had been buried under, wiping off drool from his chin with the back of his hand. He patted his hand around, frowning at the empty space beside him, and kicked his legs free from tangled flannel sheets. A pained groan heard from out in the living room sent him scrambling out of the warm bed, Kurt's name spilling frantically from his lips.

He switched on the closest floor lamp to him, drinking in the sight of Kurt lying on the couch with many different pillows pushed under and around him. Kurt stiffly bent one knee up, face tight with frustration and pain. He panted out several swears, one of them new to Blaine's ears. "Cramp," he hissed through his teeth. "Leg cramp, ow. Oh, god. Ow."

Blaine walked swiftly over to Kurt, leaping over the narrow coffee table rather than stepping around it. He moved to sit down at the end of the couch, sneaking in the space between Kurt's legs. "Straighten your knee out, that's it." He rubbed the back of Kurt's knee, his other hand sliding down to cup his heel. "Pull your toes back, baby. Yeah, keep flexing them in toward you. Yeah, like that, gently." Kurt dropped his head back once the muscle spasm eased away. "Better?" Blaine asked, kissing the inside of Kurt's ankle as he massaged his calf.

Kurt nodded, lightly rubbing his fingers over his eyes and then slotting them through his hair. "Thank you," he replied. He waited quietly for a few minutes to pass before asking Blaine if he would lie with him. Blaine responded by carefully crawling up the length of the couch, settling on his side between Kurt and the cushions. It was a tight fit, like always (but they managed, like always). Blaine wrapped his arms securely around Kurt to keep him from tipping over the edge as he turned to face him. He rested his hands against the dip of his back. "The bed's too warm," Kurt blurted out. "That's why I'm out here."

"'The bed's too warm'?" He was at least 90% certain there were icicles growing down from the ceiling in their bedroom. 

"The mattress," Kurt suggested sharply. He shifted his hips impatiently, his stomach pushing into Blaine's as he tried to find a more comfortable position. Most of the pillows he'd tucked under his knees, hips, and lower back for support had already fallen to the floor. "It's never bothered me before, but I'm... I sink in too deep. The mattress sucks me in, then all I can feel is my body heat around me, so I sweat. It's gross."

Blaine was very obviously trying so hard not to smile. He stroked his hands upward, the corners of his mouth hopelessly twitching as Kurt straightened his shoulders and arched his back into his touch. "It's fine, I get it. I'm just glad you're not so mad that you can't stand to sleep in the same room as me."

"No," Kurt sighed. He kissed Blaine, quick and hard, then leaned away to wet his lips. He kissed him again, softer, and then once more, slower. "I'm not mad at you," he whispered. "But I am a big, fat hypocrite."

"An' why's that?" Blaine mumbled distractedly, eyes slipping shut momentarily as he hummed contently against Kurt's mouth. He felt as if he could fall back asleep in seconds, although his grip around Kurt only tightened. At Kurt's deep inhale, his brow furrowed slightly. 

Kurt rushed out, "I quit the internship," but then paused for a beat before adding, "Kind of." It'd been a mutual decision... Kind of. "There's some new, big project in the works, and they, uh. They assigned Janice to it, so that's it. They picked her. The tribe has spoken, Blaine. It's time for me to go."

"But they can't do that," Blaine objected urgently. Hearing that Janice "won" the assistant position disappointed Blaine more than it surprised him. "There's still two more months left in your contract."

Kurt smiled grimly. "Yeah, 'bout that. HR basically laid out two options for me." He tugged on the stretched-out neckline to Blaine's faded argyle-print t-shirt, pausing to duck his head down and mouth along his collarbone. "I could either hang around and continue fetching coffees until March, or I could take an early out. I took the out, so they threw me the key to my golden shackles. Whatever. I'm over it."

Blaine touched the side of Kurt's face. "You're awfully calm about this." Too calm, he'd meant, considering how badly Kurt had wanted the job... title for his resumé. It was definitely a job that could have opened up a lot more career opportunities for what he actually wanted to do. 

"It sucks, yeah. Mostly for them, though. I'm not the one stuck with Janice. Yikes." Sure, Janice knew her stuff, but she lacked any personality; no heart and soul had ever been put into her work. She was too robotic, too much of a perfectionist without having one creative bone in her body. However so, she also wasn't a man carrying a fetus within him. The past few weeks had been hard after overhearing an art director ridicule him for his choices. He'd been able to ignore the curious stares and disgusted glares, but hearing what people really thought about his pregnancy? It made his stomach clench and heart ache. "They picked her," he repeated with the same amount of forced indifference as before. 

"Oh, Kurt." Blaine's tone oozed with sympathy, something Kurt didn't want to hear. Sympathy wasn't what he needed, either. 

“Please don't look at me like that. I'm almost, like... relieved, but...” He broke eye contact with Blaine as he reached down between their bodies to rub over his stomach where he'd just felt a nudge. Blaine's hand followed the movement; it sneaked greedily under his shirt. “You don't think, um. Do you think I made a mistake?”

“Whoa, what?” Blaine asked, gasping, his eyes widening in disbelief. “This isn't a mistake, wow. Um, Kurt, wow. Is this how you feel? You're almost six months along, it's a little late for—”

“No! No, no.” Kurt hooked his leg over Blaine's. “That's not what I meant, no. Hell, this baby is all I have going for me right now,” he scoffed. 

“Hey,” Blaine chided lightly. Guilt washed over him for hearing the word 'mistake' and automatically assuming Kurt had been referring to his pregnancy. “Why would you say that?”

Kurt blew out a sigh. Blaine's grip on him was too firm for him to roll onto his back. “I miss performing,” he admitted. Singing, acting, dancing; it'd been such a big part of his life, then it'd all went away once he impulsively flip-flopped majors during his freshmen year of college. He didn't think he could juggle both. “It's a little late for regret, isn't it?”

Blaine stared at him without saying anything, the look in his eyes both pensive and intense. He shook his head, breaking into a smile only when he felt what must've been a somersault under his hand. Someone was bored. “No,” he answered truthfully. “It's not.” 

If you say so, Kurt expressed through a shrug. “Oh,” he laughed softly. “He's really active tonight.” His smile froze, his gaze shifting to the side. Blaine nudged him lightly with his elbow. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted all too suspiciously. Kurt blinked owlishly, mouth opening in a silent gasp. “Something—”

“Ooph! He—he or she is really restless, more than usual. Feel that?” He tilted back, tongue peeking out as he adjusted Blaine's hand to feel where their little one had just moved. He had a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that the baby weighed only a pound, especially after he'd felt a particularly sharp kick earlier that day. He could only imagine how much more abuse his insides were going to take as the kid grew larger and larger in such a cramped space. “You still with me?”

“Yeah, I just... Yeah.” Kurt frowned when he noticed how wet Blaine's eyes had gotten. He stroked his fingers up and down Blaine's forearm. “I think I'm a little jealous.”

Kurt lifted a brow at him, skeptical. “Of my swollen ankles and frequent bathroom trips?”

Blaine hummed, “How many kids do you want?”

That had been a subtle change in topic. Kurt decided not to press any further. He answered the random question with an honest, “I don't know.” Although it'd crossed his mind a few times, he hadn't put much thought into it. For a while, he'd been too focused on hoping his pregnancy would make it through the first trimester. “Who knows, we might end up with our own Brady Bunch if the FDA doesn't approve another birth control method.” Condoms, obviously, still weren't 100% effective against pregnancy. Only one pill was available to men, and all it'd done for Kurt was send him into anaphylactic shock.

Blaine stifled a yawn by pressing his face into the side of Kurt's neck. “I guess six kids will do,” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Um, these hips ain't birthin' six babies.” Quinn had told him (or, rather, had read to him from an article she printed off the internet) about how it had been reported that most men could only put their bodies through no more than three full-term pregnancies. For some, even two was pushing it. “You hear me, Anderson?” He touched his fiancé's hip. “Blaine?”

“Kur'?” Blaine snuffled into his neck, eyes closed. He smacked his lips together, wiggling against Kurt until he was curled around him. 

OK, so he'd left their bedroom to get away from his own body heat, only to go out on the couch to be enveloped by Blaine's. Not so bad, not so bad. Lying there, he thought about what he'd said about regret while petting Blaine's hair. His soft curls were still slightly damp from the shower he'd taken before bed. 

I miss performing, he'd admitted. The words echoed through his mind, freely bouncing around. A vicious thought had him narrowing his eyes as he quickly withdrew his fingers from Blaine's hair. How can you, a small voice asked, miss performing when all you've been doing is putting on an act?

Kurt was still up to wake Blaine at five-thirty A.M. for work.

[xoxo]

Seven minutes. Kurt's twenty-five week checkup was in seven minutes. Blaine clenched his teeth, hurriedly scribbling his signature onto a purchase order form. "Has anyone seen Santana?" He asked testily, glancing from his wristwatch to the clock on the wall behind him. Six minutes. "She said she'd cover my break."

A finger tapped on his shoulder from behind, and then soft hands covered over his eyes. Blaine's eyelashes fluttered against warm palms as he blinked, his slack mouth splitting into a grin. He'd felt the hard swell of Kurt's stomach pressed into his back. Pulling down on Kurt's hands, he tilted his head back. "Hi," he drew out on a weary exhale.

Kurt bowed down low enough to peck a kiss between Blaine's eyebrows. "I'm running so behind," he panted. "Figured you were, too." That was when Blaine noticed his shortness of breath and bright red cheeks. He shot up, offering Kurt the stool. 

"Whoa, here. Have a seat." He braced the side of a wheel with his foot to keep it from rolling away as he helped Kurt sit down. He kneeled down beside him, rubbing his hand up and down the center of Kurt's back. "Missy," Blaine called out to a nearby nurse's aide, "Could you please get me a bottle of water from the lounge?"

"I'm OK," Kurt snapped when the inside of his wrist was prodded at. He jerked his arm away, breathing in slowly through his nose and then out through his mouth. "Just... Out of shape, my god. P—Parked in the garage, took the stairs." He mentioned that had been his second mistake of the day.

"You're most definitely not 'out of shape,' mister. There happens to be an adorable thirteen-inch mass continuing to grow in you and push around all of your internal organs." He thanked Missy, who had power-walked back with what he'd asked her to get for him. He twisted the blue cap off the water, then handed it to Kurt. "What was your first mistake?"

Kurt grunted, reminding himself to later scold Blaine for calling their baby a 'mass.' At least he stopped referring to he or she as 'bambino' in text messages. "Meeting Rachel Berry for lunch."

There was something about his deflated tone that had Blaine cringing. He wondered how that happened, if Kurt finally got her to answer her cellphone or if she'd finally returned any of his calls. "How is she?"

“Paranoid,” Kurt remarked bluntly. He felt Blaine's eyes on him, watching the long column of his neck as he took a swig of water. “She 'suspects' he's seeing someone else.”

“Ah, so you didn't...?” Not that he expected Kurt to fill in the blanks for her. He knew Kurt was still trying to live in denial about Quinn and Finn going out. Together. On dates. 

Kurt shook his head, making a face. He rose the bottle to his lips again, but didn't take another drink. “Once you get pulled into the crazy, there's no backing out.” He cut Blaine off from asking any more questions. “You ready to head up?” He figured it wouldn't matter one lick that they'd be late to his appointment; Quinn was almost always running behind with patients. “Blaine,” he admonished irritably at Blaine's timid reply of, “Almost.”

Blaine shifted forward on his knees, reaching up and around Kurt for the corded phone. Kurt set down the bottle, his fingers wet from condensation. He winced at a tight pain that radiated from his lower back into his legs as he stood up. “I'm going to try calling Santana. She's got to be—” A sharp whistle blew through Blaine's words.

“Damn,” Santana sighed throatily from the other side of the desk. She winked at Kurt, sauntering around from the side. “Just damn.”

“Santana,” Blaine warned as Kurt let out a, “Thank you.” He glanced at Kurt, who only shrugged. He finally gathered himself off his knees and onto his feet.

Santana proudly considered herself an equal opportunist for objectification. “What, I can't ogle your boyfriend's ass in those pants?” She scoffed, “I'll hit on—compliment, whatever—whoever I damn well please.” That said, she gave Kurt another wink (and then one to Blaine after he leaned back for a look-see). “Lookin' good, Hummel.”

“Well, at least someone noticed. I just made these.” He had found his neglected sewing machine while clearing out the storage room. He'd skipped yesterday's yoga class thanks to a new second-time mom who wouldn't stop pestering him with obnoxious questions, so he had decided to hit up a fabric store instead. He'd even put together his own patterns. Kurt couldn't figure out why he didn't think of designing his own paternity wear sooner.

“Hey, now.” Blaine turned to Kurt, resting one hand on his shoulder. His other hand patted the front of his belly, his thumb tracing around Kurt's protruding navel. “I would've noticed sooner if I hadn't been so caught up with concern for your well-being. That still, uh. That still gets me points, right?” Santana's eyes snapped up.

“Oh, Blaine-y,” she sang in a mockingly sweet tone. “I'm sure if anyone was keeping track, you'd have the winning score.” 

Blaine blinked slowly, his hand sliding off Kurt's stomach. “I honestly have no idea if I was just insulted or... Or, what?” Kurt shuffled his feet, tugging on Blaine's scrub top. 

“Come on, dear.”

“No, really. The 'winning score' for what?” Kurt's arm slipped around his waist. He jutted his jaw out to the side, letting him lead them away. 

“There's, um. There's something I need to... confess to you before this appointment,” Kurt announced with a troubling amount of hesitation once they'd gotten into an empty elevator. He had backed away to put about a foot of space between them, his hands clasped together. “It's... You're kind of going to be really mad at me, Blaine.”

Blaine almost brushed him off with a joke. Kurt's nervous appearance threw him off, though, and the pleading look in his eyes had Blaine reaching behind his back to grasp at the handrail. He took a deep breath, looking down at his clogs to study the scuff marks. As he opened his mouth to speak, the elevator stopped; it dinged, the doors parting. 

Kurt rolled his eyes as, out of all the hospital's many employees, Sebastian happened to stroll in. Sebastian's eyes lit up the second they narrowed in on poor, unsuspecting Blaine. He pressed the button on the panel for the highest floor, turning to greet Blaine warmly. He glanced at Kurt, his gaze instantly dropping down to his round stomach.

“Hey, Kurt. Whoa, you've gotten... Huge.” 

Kurt forced a smile, wanting nothing more than to punch the smarmy bastard in the face. He'd only met the medical student a handful of times, and each freakin' time? The dude had been trying (and, more importantly, failing) to to charm his way into Blaine's pants. From what Santana told him, Sebastian had yet to back off. Wasting no time, Sebastian started up a conversation with Blaine about an upcoming karaoke night at a nearby bar. 

“Ooph!” Kurt's loud gasp interrupted Sebastian's persistent encouragement for Blaine to 'tag along' and maybe join him on stage 'for a song or two.' Kurt shook his head, weakly laughing off the alarm in Blaine's eyes. He cradled a hand to the underside of his belly. “Got caught off guard,” he shrugged. Blaine gently rubbed the back of his hand up and down Kurt's side.

“He kicking up one hell of a frenzy again?”

“Yeah,” Kurt nodded. He looked down, mouth drawn into a tight line. “He is.”

Finally, much to Kurt's relief, the world's longest elevator ended as the doors slowly opened. He bolted out of the confined space, stumbling slightly, and Blaine's hands shot out to steady him by grabbing hold of his hips. “Easy,” he reminded him through a softly-spoken plea. With the weight gain in the front of his body shifting his center of gravity, Kurt sometimes 'forgot' about how he couldn't move around as gracefully as before. He had a hard time dealing with how easily he could get knocked off balance. Kurt glared down at his bloated mid-section... Only fifteen weeks to go! Oy.

“Ah, wait. Blaine, hold on. I still need to tell you—tell you something.” If anything, Blaine quickened his pace. “Blaine, I said hold on.”

He took slower, shorter strides. “Kurt,” he said with a hint of condescension. “We're late. Very, very late. I don't even know if she'll still take us now.”

“Honey, it's Quinn. Of course she will. Listen, please?” Blaine stopped walking, and he let out an annoyed sigh that Kurt was only willing to ignore once. He grabbed Blaine's hand, squeezing both of his own around it tightly. “I... You see, I... After I had that glucose test done last week, Quinn fit me in for a quick ultrasound, then got paged away, so she had a new tech finish up, and I... I asked to know the baby's sex.”

Blaine inhaled sharply. “Kurt,” he choked out in disbelief. Kurt knew if they were having a boy or girl, he knew. He swallowed thickly, staring hard into Kurt's eyes as if maybe he could pull the information out of them.

“I know. I'm sorry.” Kurt had already been on the verge of tears before Blaine stepped back, jerking his hand out from between Kurt's. “I'm very, very sorry.”

“Kurt, if you wanted—”

Kurt covered a hand over his mouth. “I'm sorry, I—”

“Please stop apologizing. I thought—”

“I know, but it's OK. I won't tell you. I'll keep it to myself. I swear I won't tell anyone else. It still can be a surprise, Blaine.” He repeated frantically, “I won't tell you.”

Blaine suctioned his tongue off the roof of his mouth to make a 'tsk' sound. He frowned, using his thumb to sweep tears off Kurt's cheeks. “You won't have to tell me because you are going to buy gender-specific baby stuff, and yes, you are going to hide everything, but yes, I am going to find them 'cause I am going to look. If you know Kurt, then I'm going to. So, give it up. C'mon.” Kurt shook his head, and Blaine actually barked out a laugh. “I'm serious. Tell me.”

“No,” he sniffled. 

“I want to know.”

Kurt hadn't stopped shaking his head from side to side. “You said—”

“I know what I said, I do. I guess I changed my... Gosh, it's been constantly on my mind. I want to know. Need to know.” Sometimes, it would keep him awake at night. Y'know... Wondering who the baby would look like the most, what eye and hair color the baby would have. He'd even had a few dreams about hair. Hair! Curly and straight. Long and short. Light, medium, and dark. Braids and bangs, hats and bows... Of course, he wouldn't know any of that for months, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Now, he hoped maybe knowing the sex of their child would at least take the edge off the anxiety he felt while waiting to meet (to hold and cherish, to sing to, to father) him or her. 

Kurt was quiet. He glanced down to where Blaine had taken his hand, their fingers linked together. “Blaine,” he said slowly. He blinked a lot, hard and very rapidly. “Blaine, we have a son.”

Blaine's mind nearly blanked out. He repeated exactly what Kurt had said to himself several times, his mouth working open and shut without any noise coming out. A boy. The baby growing inside of Kurt was a boy. He gathered Kurt into a tight embrace, tears threatening to spill over in his eyes as he tucked his chin over Kurt's shoulder. 

After taking a few minutes to calm down, they showed up at Kurt's appointment. Despite their lateness, they still had a short wait before being called back to see Quinn. Once in the exam room, Blaine 'helped' Kurt shed off a few layers. He brushed his fingertips along the fullest part of Kurt's stomach, planting eager kisses from Kurt's wrist to his mouth. From behind, Blaine hugged his arms around a squirming Kurt. He sighed happily into the nape of his neck. 

“We're having a son,” he laughed excitedly. “Oh my god, Kurt. Can we start going over names again?” Nothing really stuck out from the new naming discussions they'd had. Kurt had mostly suggested girl names, anyway. 

Kurt twisted around to face him. “Now?” 

“Why not? We can start making a list. Of boy names.” He leaned in close to rub the tip of his nose against Kurt's. “Because we're having a boy.”

Quinn popped into the small room, raising her eyebrows at the two of them. They were certainly the most G-rated couple she'd ever walked in on. She set Kurt's chart down, gesturing for him to hop on the exam table. “Blaine, hi. Kurt, how are you feeling?” She smiled brightly, “Any new complaints?”

Kurt answered her with an, “Um.” Quinn asked him to take a few deep breaths as she listened to his lungs through his undershirt with her green stethoscope. She hummed, moving around to his front to listen to his heart. He winced when she pressed down on his chest with the diaphragm. 

“Kurt?” Blaine asked, already at his side. 

“What is it?” Quinn demanded, searching Kurt's face. “Kurt?”

“My chest—” He rolled his eyes, flustered. He rubbed his palms down his thighs, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “It's been hurting a little, lately.” 

“You're having chest pain?” Kurt pushed her hands away, not wanting her to touch or 'examine' him. He almost smiled when she backed off (if only he could so easily get out of abdominal exams). 

“More like...” He guessed, “Pec pain?” He ducked his head, informing her through embarrassed mumbling that there was some swelling around his pectoral muscles.

Quinn nodded slowly, glancing to the side. “That's not... Unusual. It's very common during pregnancy. Try letting the stream hit your br—chest during warm showers.” She perked up, “Why don't you lie back?”

Blaine stepped back to give them room, frowning at Quinn. 

As Quinn checked the baby's growth rate by measuring the distance between his pubic bone and top of his uterus, Kurt caught a glimpse of Blaine flipping through his chart behind the doctor's back. He lifted his head up, snapping his fingers. “Hey, you! Get your nose out of there.”

“Please do not snap your fingers at me,” Blaine said blandly without looking up from a recent lab report. “I am not a dog,” he stated as Kurt let out a soft chuckle.

“You feel that?” Kurt asked Quinn, tucking one arm behind his head. The glow from the sun peeking out from behind gray clouds lit up the room in a warm hue. Blaine gaped at Kurt's bare stomach, unable to look away. _Blaine, we have a son_. 

“I certainly did,” Quinn said as Blaine blurted out, “You're beautiful.”

Kurt quickly objected with a sour, “I'm puffy. Like, everywhere.” His fingertips lightly grazed over where he'd felt a fluttery stir from the baby. “By the way, Quinn? You can stop playing Block That Penis during ultrasounds. We know.” 

“And how,” she demanded, “Do you know that?” She shot a look at Blaine. He shook his head, smiling politely as he closed Kurt's chart. 

“Finn,” Kurt joked for no reason other than to tease her. Quinn audibly gasped, pulling away. He sat up, clutching his imaginary pearls. “You told him?” His voice rose in pitch, “You told Finn?” 

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose, blindly reaching down to pat Kurt's knee as she choked out an apology. “We were playing some stupid game, Kurt, and I accidentally—” Kurt's legs slid over the edge of the mat table. 

“I don't need to hear anything else, actually. I'm good, thanks.” He ignored her ramblings, losing interest by the second. “Blaine, my pants?”

“He promised me,” she muttered flatly. “He said he wouldn't say a word.”

“He didn't,” Blaine said quietly. He picked up Kurt's neatly-folded clothes from off the counter. “Could you give us some privacy, Quinn?” Kurt hadn't heard Blaine refer to Quinn by her first name in years. Even when she was a medical student, it was simply 'Ms. Fabray.'

“Kurt, I—”

“I was only putting up with you dating Finn because I thought you'd still put your patient first.” The sting of betrayal exhausted him. He whispered, “I was wrong.”

Quinn fanned her face. “No, no. No. You are—”

He'd had enough. Blaine stepped in front of Kurt. “Quinn, please. Why don't you go read up on HIPAA, and we'll come out when we've finished up in here?” 

Kurt couldn't shake off how annoyed he felt about Finn knowing the sex of their baby before them. He huffed out a sigh, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He hadn't even tossed a glance in her direction as she'd exited the room. “What, why?” He asked when Blaine told him to lie back down. 

Blaine wheeled the ultrasound equipment closer to the table. He grabbed a tube of gel out of the wall-mounted warmer. “I think we deserve a glimpse of our son, don't you?”

Kurt smiled, nodding eagerly. He tried not to think about what he was going to do with Quinn. Instead, he wanted to focus on sharing a special moment with his family.

“OK, kid. Geesh, put away them dancing moves for a minute,” he mumbled as he slid the head of the wand across Kurt's slippery belly. “There we go. Would you look at that? There's our boy, Kurt.” 

Kurt stared intently at the screen, unblinking. “There he is,” he whispered anxiously. 

[xoxo]

“Why'd you let me sleep for so long? That's not how naps work,” Blaine complained as he shuffled out of the bedroom in a wrinkled pair of pajamas (that had Kurt's initials monogrammed on the breast pocket). Kurt watched reruns of an old sitcom from the sofa, where he lounged while balancing a small plate of cheesecake on his stomach. Blaine slipped in behind him, stealing the fork out of Kurt's mouth. “I'm going to be up all night now, so you're going to have to deal with that.”

“Planned on it,” Kurt grinned. He settled his back into Blaine's chest, the muscles in his neck straining as he turned his head for a kiss. At the same time, an arm reached past his shoulder to dive the fork into his fat slice of cheesecake. “Blaine,” he whined. 

“Mm-hmm. Why are you even out here? The whole point of lying in bed had been for you to get some rest, not me.” After dinner, they'd stretched out together over the covers with full bellies and half-lidded eyes. Blaine had pretty much dozed off within minutes of his head hitting the pillow. 

“I did, honey. Some people get their rest through sleep. Others gets theirs through...” Kurt held his breath, “Using vague directions in a foreign language to put a crib together.” 

Silence. Then, “You didn't. Kurt, you didn't.”

Kurt picked at the dessert with his fingers. “My French has gotten rusty,” he admitted in a small voice.

“By yourself?”

“I'm not an invalid. My blood pressure's up, all my blood work has been normal.” He leaned his head back, resting it against Blaine's shoulder. “We're doing better than OK, Blaine. You don't have to be so... Uptight.”

“'Uptight'? It's my job as a husband and father to look after you and our son.” He moved the plate off Kurt's stomach, setting it atop a magazine on the table. The fork had fallen to the floor, unnoticed. “You don't know how to take things easy, so I do my part by reminding you when to slow down. Like now, for instance. You're still up when I go to bed at night, and you're already up when the alarm goes off in the morning. You need your sleep, baby.”

“I don't know how you do it,” Kurt grunted.

“Do what?” Blaine asked. He tucked his arms around Kurt, hugging him. 

“Sleep.” Kurt laughed uneasily, “Or at least trying to. I hate it. All I do is lie there, wide awake, and... Think. It's too much, I really don't know how you do it.”

That wasn't quite it, Blaine was sure there was something else. “You don't know how I...” He questioned, “Sleep?”

Kurt shook his head, shoulders hitching up. “No, I don't know how you know how...” He groaned into his hands, rocking forward. Blaine shifted with him, refusing to let go. “I don't know how to be a father,” he snapped heatedly. “I don't have the instincts for this. I mean, you figured out I was pregnant before I did.”

Blaine slid off the couch to crouch down in front of Kurt. As lovely as it was, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with the back of Kurt's head. “I swear I'm just as scared and clueless as you are, Kurt. I don't know how to—how to anything, really, gosh. Neither of us have much experience with kids or babies, so... Yeah, this is all gonna be very new to us, but at least we'll learn along the way with each other.”

With each hard blink, a fresh set of hot tears streaked down Kurt's cheeks. Blaine's heart ached with each little hiccup noise he made. “You sound so sure. How can you sound so freakin' sure? You basically just admitted we're going to have to wing it with the whole parent thing, Blaine. This is our child; We're responsible for how he turns out.”

“We are, yes, and it's a responsibility we can handle. No doubts about that, none.” He hoped (hoped so much it hurt) that he was getting through to Kurt. 

“I don't want to screw up...” Kurt cringed, fearing and expecting the worst. “I don't want to screw him up.”

“You're not,” Blaine promised sternly. He held his thumb under Kurt's chin, gently lifting it upward. “We can do this. Together, we'll try at our hardest—and best. It's not going to be easy raising the next president of the United States, but we'll manage.”

Kurt let out a bubbly laugh, proclaiming his obvious love for Blaine. “I can't wait to be your husband.”

Blaine crawled back on the couch, swooping in for a kiss. He pawed at his shoulder, his hand sliding down to rest over Kurt's wildly beating heart. Kurt moaned, wetly sucking at his bottom lip. He pulled back slightly, a short string of saliva stretching between their panting mouths.

“Do that again,” he encouraged breathlessly. “Please, do that again.”

Blaine hated to ask, “Do what again?”

Kurt sat back, sinking into the couch cushion, and shyly brought Blaine's hand up from his hip. He slowly dragged it across his chest, pressing down very lightly. Blaine rubbed down on his own, working his fingers. Kurt visibly gulped, “Yeah. Yeah. Feels so good.” He could already feel the tight achiness in his chest start to fade away, and popped his hips from side to side. “You don't have to stop kissing me.”

“Oh,” was the only syllable to make it past Blaine's lips before he settled in for another kiss. His tongue eased in, working its way around Kurt's mouth as he continued kneading his fingertips into Kurt's sore chest muscles. The sound of his cellphone, its battery likely close to death, singing out to him only made him kiss Kurt harder. 

Kurt recognized the specific ringtone. He pushed Blaine's hands off him, the massage suddenly too rough. “That's work,” he pointed out. 

“They only call at midnight on my nights off for one reason.” It was a minute after twelve, and officially Valentine's Day. They had plans. Plans! “Let 'em go to voice mail, 'm busy.”

“You don't find it hard to ignore them after a speech about responsibility?” Kurt had been looking forward to spending all day in bed with Blaine at a cute bed and breakfast located right out of the busy city, but... Dun, dun dun: Responsibility. With him out of work for the next few months, they couldn't say no to the extra money. Blaine knew this, and sighed. And whined, too. Kurt pouted with him, getting him off quickly with little twists of his hands. Blaine refused to leave until he returned the favor, fingering him and mouthing at his neck until he came.

Kurt listened to creaking floorboards and jingling keys, falling asleep only minutes after Blaine left to cover a shift at the hospital. He took the bus, wanting Kurt to have the car as a 'just in case.' Kurt woke up an hour later to annoying beeps, Blaine's phone blowing up with text messages. He ignored them, snorting softly into his pillow. Blaine had a charger at work, so he'd probably just forgotten to grab it on his way out the door. 

“Fine,” Kurt snapped as the stupid cellphone cried out with a snippet of the catchy chorus to a Pink song. He frowned, catching a glimpse of Santana's name flashing on the screen. He answered the call, only to hear a sharp burst of background noise. He checked the messages, all from Santana and full of misspellings. He scrolled up, seeing an earlier invite for Blaine to meet her at a bar near their apartment. It'd been sent during Blaine's nap. He disconnected the call, an uneasy feeling rippling through him. 

Kurt slipped on a hoodie, the thin fabric straining across his stomach as he zipped it up. He put on a jacket over it, grabbing a scarf and gloves out of the closet. He drove down to the bar Santana had mentioned, and it'd taken him ten minutes to find close parking. He stayed in the car for a few minutes, dialing Santana's number over and over to let her know he was waiting outside for her. He cursed, dropping the phone onto the seat beside him.

He went into the loud, congested bar to get her. He grew annoyed as sweaty drunks jerkily brushed into him, but only felt relieved when he finally spotted Santana at the bar. Wait, at the bar... Hanging off a... Guy. Yeah, she was definitely wasted. He walked up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. 

“C'mon, time to go.” She turned around to squint at him, her dark red lips pinched to the side. “Blaine got called in, so you're stuck with me. Let's go.”

“I'm... No,” she slurred. “Hummel, what're you doing here?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, impatiently repeating exactly what he'd said to her about Blaine. “So,” he stressed out again, “You're stuck with me. Let's go.”

The guy drooling over Santana's cleavage looked pissed off. “Whoa, dude. I don't think my pretty lady is ready to leave yet.”

“I think she is,” Kurt disagreed without glancing away from his friend. She didn't give much of a reaction; Santana mainly seemed unimpressed. She waved her hand at him.

“It's cool. You can go,” she told him.

Kurt wouldn't budge. “I'm not leaving without you.”

The man twisted around on the stool to glare at Kurt. “Did you not fucking hear me, dude?” He snapped as Santana sipped on her beer. 

“Listen, dude. You can give up on this one, okay? She's not going to do anything with or for you, so—” The guy stood up, nearly knocking over his seat.

“What,” he exploded. “You don't think I'm good enough for her, huh? Is that it, you fucking queer?”

“No,” Kurt stated calmly. “I don't think you're woman enough for her.”

There was an odd beat of silence where the stranger's facial expressions twitched from confusion to anger. _I think you're too woman for her_ , the guy had misheard over the chatter of the people around them. He lurched forward, his fist flying out. Kurt had looked away from him to warn Santana about leading guys on for free drinks, and he'd barely managed to dodge the clumsy punch. The man shoved him, and Kurt got knocked back into an empty stool. He fell down, his body both harshly and awkwardly hitting against the front of the bar. He choked on a groan, pain splitting through his side. 

“He's pregnant, you stupid-fuck!” Santana screamed at the guy, slapping him away with shaky hands. She dropped down beside Kurt, her vision swimming. “Kurt, hey, look at me, Kurt. Look at me.” 

“It hurts to breathe,” he gasped. He clutched his side, pain contorting his face. “It hurts,” he hissed. 

“Stop staring, you assholes. Call an ambulance, fuck!” The guy who'd attacked him fled, shoving his way out through the crowd of people. “Where else does it hurt? Kurt, look at me.” She pushed back on his shoulders when he tried to sit up, too rough. He cried out, snapping out her name.

“I want Blaine,” he begged. “Get me Blaine.”

It took over fifteen minutes for the ambulance to arrive. Santana kept repeating that he hadn't been drinking to the paramedic. She tried to climb into the back of the ambulance with him, but they wouldn't let her.

“I'm a nurse,” she screeched. 

“You're also drunk,” the paramedic pointed out. 

She pushed her fingers through her hair, wiping tears out of her eyes with the back of her ink-stamped hand. She nodded, making sure they were taking Kurt to the hospital where Blaine worked. “I'll call him,” she prattled to no one. “I'll call Blaine to let him know.”

She entered the Emergency Department's number into her phone after she called for a cab. The secretary answered, asking to take a message when she asked for Blaine.

“He's with a patient,” she said.

“I don't fucking care. This is Santana Lopez. Tell him it's a family emergency.”

There was a pause on the other line. “His family or yours?”

“His! Fuck! Get him now.”

[xoxo]


	6. Chapter 6

[xoxo]

Blaine stood out in the quiet ambulance bay, alone and waiting; underdressed. Cold wind blew against him, whistling hoarsely past his red-tipped ears. His skin achingly tingled, goose bumps prickling up his bare arms as tiny snowflakes drifted down from the starless night sky. 

_10, 9, 8... His eyes flitted up and down from the off-white stick in Kurt's trembling hands to the flashing numbers on the digital timer, up and down. They slowly grew wide, finally settling on Kurt's pale face. 3, 2, 1..._

_Blaine's breath seized in his throat, the realization of I was right soaking through him as Kurt's mouth twitched to the side. He showed him the sign on the test. “You were right,” he gasped. “It's...”_ Positive. _“I'm...”_ Pregnant.

He let out a desperate chant of, “Please.” Teary-eyed and breathless, he begged the word (and 'be okay,' please be okay) over and over. His knees nearly buckling, he pressed his mouth into the back of his hand to muffle a sob. 

_They sat at the kitchen table in silence, sipping on mugs of warm milk. Blaine playfully nudged Kurt's sock-clad foot with his own, unable to sit still. His hands itched to touch Kurt's flat tummy. “Say something,” he said after a while. “Anything.”_

_Kurt pinched his drink's chipped handle, pushing it around in a circle. Milk sloshed over the rim. “'Something,'” he stated flatly. “'Anything.'” His hand darted over to cover over Blaine's. “Sorry,” he laughed. “I'm... I don't know what you want me to say.”_

_“You could,” he suggested cheerily, “tell me what you're feeling right now.” He turned his palm upward to squeeze his fingers around Kurt's. “I know this has come a, uh, little sooner than expected.”_

_“This doesn't feel real. I don't feel... I don't know, pregnant? What if the test was a false positive or whatever?” He gave Blaine a watery smile. “I don't think we should get our hopes up yet. Let's... Let's schedule an appointment with, um. Quinn, I guess.”_

_Blaine perked up a little. “'Get our hopes up'?” He repeated._

_“Yeah,” Kurt said without hesitation. He laughed again, clasping his other hand over his mouth. “Although... Blaine, I think I already have.”_

Blaine sighed heavily once the wailing ambulance came into view, and took off to meet it before it had a chance to stop. He slipped on a patch of ice, scraping his elbow off the pavement. 

The ambulance's back doors popped open. Two EMTs rolled Kurt out on a stretcher. “Yo, you 'k?” One of them asked. The other called out, “I really hope you're Blaine.”

“Blaine?” A small, confused voice asked hopefully. 

“Oh, my god. Kurt? How, how are they? How is he?” Blaine asked impatiently, wincing as he pushed himself off the frozen ground. He limped forward, face pinched tight as he ignored the throbbing pain in his knee. “Oh, Kurt.” He looked up from Kurt's belly, his heart growing heavy with concern when he saw the bulky oxygen mask covering the lower half of Kurt's face. “I'm here, baby. I'm here, it's OK now.”

“Good, good. Keep talking to him, man. He's too worked up,” the EMT said to Blaine as a paramedic rattled off Kurt's vitals to the attending physician who had joined them at the ED's entrance. “We could barely get him to calm down long enough to stop hyperventilating.”

_“Can I?” Blaine inquired with an unusual amount of shyness, his hand hovering above Kurt's stomach. Kurt side-eyed him, glancing up from a printout of results to the blood work he'd recently had done for only a second. It was the most beautiful sheet of paper Blaine had ever seen. He wanted to frame it. “It's official now, so. Like, can I?”_

_“You're asking for permission?” Kurt asked, amused._

_“Just this once,” he explained. Blaine scooted up, accidentally kneeing a pillow off the bed. He sat beside Kurt, their backs pressed into the headboard behind them. “It's a yes you can't take back.” He asked again, “Can I?”_

_Kurt smiled, lips parting to throw out some snark. He paused to lean his shoulder into Blaine's, suddenly unable to find any words... Other than 'yes.'_

“No,” Kurt cried out as he struggled against the numerous sets of gloved hands lifting him from off the narrow stretcher and onto a sheeted gurney. He groaned weakly, the pain in his side and chest worsening. He choked on small gasps, trying to concentrate on the feeling of Blaine's fingers carding through his hair. “H—Hurts to br—breathe,” he wheezed.

“Does this hurt?” A doctor's hands tapped persistently around his belly. Kurt shook his head, his lips pressed together tightly. 

“My l—lungs aren't in my—my uterus,” he snapped. An intern with fiery red hair blocked Kurt's view of Blaine, asking him questions about fetal activity. He held in a breath, looking off to the side. “I don't—I don't know. Blaine? I can't, I can't feel the—” Someone prodded at his side, several inches below his armpit.

Blaine started when Kurt shouted, his back arching off the gurney. The doctor gave a nurse orders for blood work and a chest x-ray, pausing from listening to Kurt's lungs and heart with his stethoscope to ask if OB had been paged yet.

Kurt kicked his legs out when the intern pushed down on his breastbone. He would've flailed his arms out if Blaine hadn't been holding them down at his sides. “Stop,” he huffed. “It hurts Blaine. Tell them to st—stop touching me.”

“Kurt, please. They need to—” Blaine bent down, pressing their foreheads together. Kurt's skin felt hot against his own. He wiped away tears from Kurt's cheeks, inhaling deeply as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. His stomach clenched as Kurt began to write under him, gritting his teeth. “Shh, it's OK.”

“No. It's not,” he groaned through a shuddery pant. “I think, uh. I think I just had a contraction.”

_“Would you stop that?” Kurt asked sharply, glaring at a restless Blaine as he went through whichever unlocked cabinets and drawers he could open. “Blaine, really? Really, Blaine? Sit down.” He fidgeted with the oversized gown he'd been asked twice to put on, trying to focus more on Blaine than all of the confusing diagrams posted on the examination room's beige walls._

_“What do you think they do with this?” Blaine wondered out loud, holding up some type of shiny instrument he'd never seen before. A shiny, sharp-looking instrument._

_Kurt might've actually whimpered, “Oh. Oh, my god.” He crossed one ankle over the other, his knees locking together. “Blaine, please get over here and hold my hand.”_

_Blaine apologized profusely, almost knocking over a bedazzled jar of tongue depressors. He scrambled over to take Kurt's hand, immediately lifting it up to his mouth. He brushed his quirked lips above where Kurt's wedding band would eventually rest. “You OK?”_

_Kurt nodded, offering a weak smile as Blaine rubbed his shoulder. He bent his head down to the side, resting his cheek over the back of Blaine's hand. He closed his eyes. “I feel like I'm going to throw up.”_

_“Again?” It'd become a new morning routine for Kurt to lock himself in their bathroom when he felt sick. Yeah, Blaine had been several minutes late for work the past two days because he couldn't get to his toothbrush or, more importantly, any hair gel._

_“No, not from...” They were waiting for Quinn to perform the first trimester ultrasound scan. Their first appointment with her had only been to confirm the pregnancy and discuss all options. “Just nervous, I guess. Aren't you?” It was a big moment for them. A big step, also. They were starting a family of their own._

_“An excited kind of nervous, yeah.”_

_Kurt nodded his head, feeling warmth spread through his cheeks. “Yeah,” he echoed._

_Once the doctor arrived, most of their time spent with her involved a lengthy Q &A session where she inquired about both of their family's medical history. Near the end, Kurt latched on to Blaine's arm when Quinn asked them if they were ready for their first glimpse of the baby._

_“Are you?” The scan wasn't just about seeing their tiny fetus. It was also about checking to make sure it was developing normally, and finding out how far along Kurt was and when he'd be due. A big moment for them, indeed._

_Blaine smiled widely, “I'm ready.”_

_Kurt rested back on his elbows, laughing as Blaine helped him pull up the front of his gown. “Me too,” he realized._

[xoxo]

Blaine paced outside of Kurt's room on the OB floor, the door left open enough for him to keep an eye on his sleeping fiancé. After he'd been admitted for observation under the on-call doctor's orders, Blaine had sung softly to Kurt. It'd taken him close to a half hour to lure him into dozing off peacefully. 

“Blaine?” Santana stood at the end of the dimly-lit hallway. Carrying a pair of red heels and her hospital ID badge, she sprinted toward him. As Blaine held a finger up to his pursed lips to shush her preemptively, she set down her shoes and tried to sneak a peek into Kurt's dark room. 

“Not now, Santana. Please,” Blaine whispered brokenly before throwing his arms out to pull her in for a hug. She patted his back awkwardly, stunned by his reaction. Santana waited until he moved away to ask about Kurt and the baby. “He, uh. The baby's doing great. They've still got him on a monitor, but his heart rate's been strong and steady.”

Her relieved smile was guarded. She prompted, “And Kurt?” 

“Kurt,” Blaine sounded his name out slowly. “Kurt has a fractured rib. Between that and the bruising, he's having a hard time catching his breath. He...” He faltered, his voice threatening to crack. “He had some Braxton Hicks contractions earlier. It really, it really freaked him out.” 

“Shit,” she snapped. Santana wrapped one arm around herself, turning away from Blaine as she pressed a palm into her forehead. Dark spots littered her cheeks and chin from smudged makeup. “Shit. Blaine, I'm so fucking sorry. This is all my goddamned fa—”

Blaine's head fell back. “I'm the one to blame,” he said. He'd scheduled Valentine's Day off months ago so they could use a little weekend getaway for some alone time. Once again, nothing had gone as planned. He scolded himself, “I should never have left him.”

Santana rose her voice to grunt, “Don't give me that bullshit.” 

“Shh,” he hissed. Blaine twisted around to check in on Kurt, his teary gaze lingering on how the obvious curve of Kurt's belly stuck up from under a white blanket. He thought Kurt's 'baby bump' had seemed so much smaller with a fetal monitor strapped around it. “The guy who attacked Kurt. You know him?”

She didn't, something she hated to admit. It wasn't a bar Santana frequented regularly. She had only gone to it because it'd been across the street from the restaurant where her date, a nurse from the Pediatrics ward, had stood her up. All she'd wanted was attention and free drinks. Lucky her, she got both and then some. 

“Then find out?” Blaine suggested, although it sounded more like an demand. He rubbed his fingers over his mouth, “I've got to... I need to go be with him, sorry.” 

Santana shot him a weird look. “Don't be,” she told him. “And don't worry 'bout it, 'K? The cops were called, they had to have been here. I'mma talk to them, all right? I swear, the asshole ain't getting away with this.”

Blaine gave her a vague little wave before tiptoeing quietly into the room. He used the dull light shining in from the hallway to find and sit down in the chair angled closely at Kurt's beside. He slid both of his hands gently around one of Kurt's, careful not to wake him up. He bit the inside of his cheek, wishing the least he could have done was remember his cellphone. 

He studied the blinking numbers on the digital monitors surrounding them. Even while asleep, Kurt's pulse was a little tachycardic. Their son's fetal heart rate was at 154 beats per minute. He glanced down, unable to resist the urge to touch Kurt's stomach. He stroked his fingers down his side twice, resting them there.

_I'm sorry_ , he apologized silently. _I'll do better_.

“Blaine?” Kurt mumbled groggily, his eyes cracking open. Blaine frowned, rubbing lazy circles into the inside of his limp wrist.

“I'm here, Kurt.” The crescent-shaped bruise forming on Kurt's cheek filled him with anger; for now, Blaine fought to keep it locked away. “I'm not going anywhere, so you can go back to sleep.”

“Mmph, can't. Baby's got the hiccups.” He smiled, turning his head. Kurt wetted his lips, the tip of his tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth. “I think he wants a name.”

Blaine took notice of Kurt's slow, shallow breaths. “Oh, yeah?” He asked lightly, bowing his head down to kiss Kurt's forearm. “Does he have any suggestions?”

“Yes, yes. He'd prefer something... Shakespearean, of course.”

“Of course,” Blaine repeated skeptically. He traced wide letters across the side of Kurt's belly, wondering what other drugs they must've injected into Kurt's IV when he wasn't looking. “Little 'Hamlet Anderson-Hummel' does have a nice ring to it, hmm?” He snapped his fingers. “And we could call him 'Hammie' for short!”

Kurt seemed both confused and horrified as he stated calmly, “Stop it.”

“I'm also partial to 'Pistol.'” Ooh, 'Pistol Horatio Anderson' rolled right off the tongue so darned perfectly. He snickered at Kurt's unimpressed eyebrow quirk. 

“Great, then our kid's nickname can be 'Pis—'” Kurt paused abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I see what you did there.” 

Blaine leaned up to offer him a tender kiss. Kurt smiled, touching the side of his face. “I've been liking your dad's first name as, like, maybe a middle name. 'Burton.'”

“Yeah?” Kurt asked, surprised. He wrinkled his brow, hitching his shoulders up as he tried to stifle a deep yawn. He groaned, a throbbing pain around his busted ribs welcoming itself back. The cold pack pressed into the side of his ribcage had gone warm, the low-dosage analgesic he'd been given already wearing off. Kurt tried to sit up a little, wanting water to sip on, but the movement only exacerbated his pain.

Blaine patted his hip, urging him to roll over onto his side. “No, no, no. Towards me, baby.” He explained to Kurt that lying on his injured side would actually allow for him to breathe in deeper. “That's it,” he praised softly. “Any better?”

Kurt screwed up his face. Once he got through the initial pain, which felt as if a steel-toed boot had struck him in the chest, it still took him a moment to remember how to breathe. “How long?” He asked, “For the ribs to heal?” He tapped his fingers up and down, cutting off Blaine's reply. “Sit with me?”

“Um, yeah.” He sat back down, unsure about when he'd gotten to his feet. “Of course,” he mumbled tiredly. Almost like a reflex, he reached out to flatten his hand against the fat, warm curve of Kurt's stomach. 

“No,” Kurt said in what could have been compared to a whine. Confusion etched all over Blaine's face, his mouth falling open when his hand was pushed away. Kurt frowned, “Sit up here with me.” 

Blaine slipped out of his clogs. He hopped up behind Kurt, careful not to jostle him. He pinched at the missed snaps on the back of Kurt's gown, adjusting the mess of lead wires. He curled his fingers in toward the palm of his hand, skimming the backs of them down Kurt's bicep. “About a month or two,” he sighed. “It's a small crack, so hopefully your rib'll heal up quick.”

'A month or two,' Kurt mouthed slowly. In two months, he would be closing in on eight months pregnant. Jaw clenched tight, he held back a frustrated huff. “This freakin' sucks.”

“I know. I'm sorry,” Blaine whispered. 

Kurt tilted his chin up. “Hey,” he chided. “Don't... Don't do that, be sorry. You don't have anything to apologize for. I'm the idiot.”

“Oh, no. No, don't you do that.” Blaine's stomach clenched harshly. They were stuck hopelessly in a could've, would've, should've moment. “Tonight... It could've gone... A lot worse. I—I don't want to dwell on that, Kurt.”

The soreness in Kurt's cheek, the puffiness around his eye, the football-sized patch of mottled bruising above his ribs? It all agreed. Kurt nodded, his bottom lip quivering slightly. Inside him, he felt a few more tiny twitches from his hiccuping baby. “So, he's OK?” Kurt asked as if that hadn't been his main concern since he arrived at the hospital.

Blaine scratched his cheek, smiling adorably. “Believe you me, our little Pistol—”

“Blaine, that name isn't cute or charming. It's disturbing.” What a goof. They were not naming their child 'Pistol.'

“—Is doing just fine.” It's not the baby they're worried about, Blaine wanted to tell him. It's you. He knew what to start with, though, and it wasn't with that. “A tech did a quick scan while you were still down in the ED, remember? He's sucking on his thumb in there, totally oblivious to what's going on out here.”

Kurt mumbled out a weary, “Yeah.” 

“Go back to sleep, Kurt.” He felt Blaine's hot breath ghost across the back of his neck. “I'll stay right here, alright?” Blaine would swear not to move an inch if he had to. 

Kurt's eyelids were already sagging. He sang out a soft, “'K,” drawing out the syllable. The side of his mouth tugged back for a lopsided smile as Blaine pressed a dry kiss to his temple. He fell asleep against Blaine, some of the tension easing out of his body. 

[xoxo]

He stared at the tray of food a dietary aide left for him at his bedside, his stomach churning unpleasantly. The peppered clump of scrambled eggs stared back at Kurt. “I'm not eating that.”

“Come on, just a few bites. Please? You need to eat.” Blaine nudged at the fork, promising Kurt he would either stop somewhere or make him anything he wanted when they got home if he humored him for now.

Kurt held a hand against his mouth firmly. “No, I mean I... I can't eat that. Oh, I'm—uh. Uh.” Blaine barely got the pink basin under Kurt's chin in time. His scrunched-up face reddening as he heaved shakily, Kurt grabbed a tight fistful of Blaine's shirt. He cursed, spitting once more into the plastic container before he sat back. Kurt clutched his side, gasping. 

Blaine poured water from a small pitcher into a cup of crushed ice. He brought it up to Kurt's lips, nearly getting the drink knocked out of his hands. 

“I'm not, I—Gosh, please. Just don't. Don't,” he begged snappishly. He wanted to go home, to sprawl out on the couch (with his fiancé, but without said fiancé coddling him) and eat more cheesecake. He wanted to finish sewing the sleeves of a shirt he'd put together with leftover fabric, except now he wasn't sure how long (or if) he could bear bending over a sewing machine. “When can we get out of here?”

“Today,” Blaine guessed vaguely. He shouldn't have added, “Hopefully.”

“'Hopefully'?” Kurt screeched, cupping a hand over his mouth again. His nausea refused to settle with the disgusting smell of overcooked eggs still so very near. “Would you move that tray out of here already?”

“Oh,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. Quinn appeared, her smile hesitant. “I'll get it,” she offered. “If that's okay?”

Kurt squared his shoulders, rubbing the pads of his index finger and thumb in a circular motion against his stomach as if his distended belly also served as a worry stone. Blaine picked up the tray to hand it to her. 

“Is there something else I can get for you?” She asked Kurt, wondering if he'd like some cereal or hot oatmeal. 

“Discharge papers?” Kurt suggested. He munched on the cold toast Blaine had taken off the tray. 

Quinn gave the tray to a nurse who'd come in to check Kurt's blood pressure. Every two hours since he had been admitted he'd gotten his blood pressure taken. “Soon,” she promised. “Very soon. But first? We have a lot to go over.” 

Blaine took a seat at the end of the bed, legs crossed with his feet tucked under his thighs. He was eager to get Kurt home where he could be (safe) more comfortable and at ease. He'd left a message on Finn's voice mail while Kurt had been asleep. He'd given him vague details, asking him if he would be free to pick them up from the hospital. Blaine would figure out when he'd find their car later. 

Quinn checked Kurt over, disconnecting him from all the wires. She frowned at the fresh bruises, feeling over his ribs with a featherlight touch. The ED doctor had already signed off on his chart; Kurt only had to be cleared by OB before he could leave. “Any cramping since last night? Spotting?” She asked, looking back and forth between him and Blaine. “Have you had anymore false labor contractions?”

Kurt answered verbally in the negative for the first two questions. About the contractions, he shook his head. “Not since this morning. Like, early morning.” 

“Good, good. I also wanted to talk to you about Dr. Haas.” Kurt eyed a business card clipped to the outside of his chart. Quinn tugged off the paperclip.

“Dr. Haas?”

“He's the on-call OB doctor you saw downstairs,” Blaine reminded him. Kurt cocked his head to the side, so Blaine tried again. “You insulted his glasses.”

Kurt pushed his lips out, defensive. “They didn't go with the shape of his face. What? It was distracting. And I was doing him a favor.”

“Okay,” Quinn started. She really didn't want to think about any disrespect Kurt may have shown to a doctor the hospital had to practically grovel at to get him to join their staff. “I had a long talk with him earlier. He wanted me to... Offer you the number to his office. Dr. Haas is an OB doctor, but he specializes in male pregnancy.” 

“Oh, really?” That definitely captured Blaine's attention. He leaned forward to accept the card from Quinn. 

“You're passing me off to another doctor?” Kurt asked flatly, still annoyed with her for violating his privacy. She'd sparked some big trust issues. 

“That's your choice, Kurt. Dr. Haas' partner runs weekly classes for his patients. I hear the meetings cover a lot with pre- and postnatal care, and I think you and Blaine should at least check them out.” She pulled out a flier from under his chart. “I want what's best for all my patients. Like I said... Your choice.” 

Kurt sighed. He already knew exactly what Blaine was going to say. Still, Kurt had a lot of thinking to do. The easiest decision was sometimes the hardest to make. Next to him, the corded phone let out a shrill ring.

“Who could that be?” Kurt asked, stretching his legs out. His foot pushed into the side of Blaine's thigh. “Blaine?” His voice dropped lower, suspicious. “Blaine?” 

“It's probably a wrong number.” He confessed, “Or Finn.”

“What? How does he—? When did you—?”

“So,” Quinn uttered loudly. She made sure they'd gotten Kurt's aftercare instructions and medication prescriptions from the other doctor. “Right, so I'll go write up your discharge papers. You can get dressed, I'll have the nurse come in when they're done.”

Blaine answered the phone and, sure enough, it was a frantic Finn. With Finn in the know, they would have a lot of phone calls to make in the next few hours. This wasn't something his or Blaine's parents needed to hear from someone else. Kurt sighed again as Blaine put his hand over the phone's mouthpiece.

“I told him you and the baby are fine now, but he won't believe me. He wants to hear it from you.” 

A sharp wave of pain split through the side of his chest when Kurt turned too much to take the phone from Blaine. He hissed, digging the heels of his feet into the thin mattress under him. Each time he thought about it, 'one or two months' seemed further and further away. 

You can get through this, he told himself. He smiled, small but sure, as Blaine patted his shoulder. We can get through this.

[xoxo]

 

[xoxo]

Kurt groaned over the background noise of mindless talk show chatter, tugging at the stubborn identification band around his wrist. “I can't believe I'm celebrating Valentine's Day with a broken rib and lunch with my brother,” he grumbled to an empty room. He flinched at a loud clang, _clang_ , _clang_ from the kitchen. Finn had insisted on making them grilled cheese sandwiches while Blaine ran out to pick up their car. 

He pinched the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it out to take a whiff. Kurt wrinkled his nose, a little disgusted with himself. The quick shower he'd taken at the hospital hadn't done anything except dry out his skin. He stood up slowly, exhaling shakily through clenched teeth. “Settle,” he muttered down at his swollen stomach. He petted the sides of his belly, smiling fondly. The baby had been especially active since they got home. I'm okay if you're okay, Kurt promised. 

Behind him, the floorboards creaked. Busted.

“Um, where are you going?” Finn popped out of the kitchen, a greasy turner in his hand. He squinted at Kurt, worried. “Is something wrong?” He asked urgently.

Well, yeah. Something was wrong. Kurt smelled rather... Unfavorably, okay? And that was a problem. “I want—” Hold your ground, Hummel. “I'm taking a shower.” 

Finn frowned to the point of actually looking upset. “Now?” He wanted to know, “Can't you wait? Like, you know. For Blaine to get back?” Dang, Finn even managed to sound somewhat hysterical in his overreaction. “What if you fall in there, Kurt?”

“Wait,” Kurt sighed airily. “You want me to wait for Blaine...” He trailed off as he glanced up at the ceiling, teasingly pensive. “So we can shower together?” He clapped, flashing a dopey smile at his stepbrother. “Aw, Finn.”

Not surprisingly, Finn's face grew beet red. “No!” He shouted, eyes comically wide. Kurt's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He had totally just put a wicked picture in Finn's head. “That is not what I—I, Kurt. You know that's not what I meant,” he scolded. 

“You don't understand. All of this?” He gestured his hands hastily around his plump midsection. “Doesn't make me an invalid. I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself without falling or, before you ask, drowning.” 

“You don't understand.” Finn frowned, wondering if he'd have to remind Kurt of his injuries or the medications he was on. He looked down at his feet. “Blaine can, he can get to be... A scary little dude when it comes to... Well, you. I'd like to not piss him off, if that's okay.”

Kurt argued petulantly, “But I stink like a hospital.”

Finn shrugged ('cause, c'mon now, there were way worse things to smell like than that). He glanced at the turner in his hand with a funny expression before looking behind his shoulder to check for any smoke coming out of the kitchen. “Me and Blaine, we work all day in one. It doesn't really bother us.”

If Kurt's stomach hadn't rumbled for food, he would've fought harder. Maybe. 'Finn Logic' definitely knew how to drain him of all his energy. His sharp eyeroll served as a surrendering, and he plopped back down carefully onto the couch. He pulled his shirt up enough to reveal the navy stretch panel around the waistband of his pants. He plucked at where it curved comfortably under his belly. “Hey, uh. Finn, you want to...?” 

Finn sat down heavily beside Kurt, quiet and eager. Kurt reached for his hand, guiding it over to where the baby shifted restlessly. Finn barked out a startled laugh, his face lighting up. “Geez, Kurt. Wow, I mean. Wow.” He adjusted his hand to splay his fingers wider, to press down a little firmer and see if he could feel more. He flung his arm away as Kurt whined out a soft mnh when he got too close to where Kurt's skin was marred with deep bruises. “Sorry, oh my god. Sorry, sorry. Shit, sorry.” 

Kurt shook off the string of apologies, smoothing his hands over wrinkles in his shirt where he'd tugged at it. “He's amazing, isn't he? It's kind of crazy how much I love him already.” He caught the sudden blossom of sadness in Finn's bright eyes, a pang of guilt spreading through him. It was his turn to wince out a, “Sorry.”

“You're not the one who has anything to be sorry for,” Finn grunted miserably. He rubbed his mouth, accidentally knocking a striped afghan off the back of the couch as he stood up. “I'll get that. And, um. I need to go finish grilling up those sandwiches.” He paused mid-step to ask Kurt if he needed anything. 

“Scissors,” Kurt said. He smiled dimly, holding his wrist up to show off the plastic bracelet. He behaved when Finn snipped it off for him (well, mostly behaved. He'd waited until Finn had turned his back to pull a face). He nearly asked Finn if he was going to chew up his food for him, too (but he didn't want to give him any ideas). 

Kurt was in the middle of scarfing down a second sandwich when Blaine shuffled in from outside, a melting layer of fluffy snow covering the tops of his shoulders. Kurt got up from the kitchen table to greet him by touching his warm palms to Blaine's chilly cheeks. He pulled the knitted beanie off his head, distracting him with a chaste kiss.

Blaine rocked up on the balls of his feet to chase Kurt's mouth. “Hi,” he breathed against his lips. He griped Kurt's hips greedily, his fingers finding their way under the thick panel to rub at smooth skin. He inhaled deeply through his nose, kissing him harder. From only a few feet away, Finn cleared his throat. Kurt waggled his eyebrows, unzipping Blaine's jacket. 

“Finn thinks we need to go jump in the shower. Now,” Kurt stage-whispered. Finn squeaked, coughing after almost choking on a bite of cheesy crust. 

“Oh, yeah?” Blaine asked flirtily, smirking. “Me and you, is that right?”

Finn wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I'm going to take that as my cue to get back at work.” He had washed the frying pan and any dishes he'd dirtied before eating so neither Blaine nor Kurt would have to do it later. He squeezed Blaine's shoulder, then turned to Kurt and hugged his arms around him. “Hey, bro. Um, about what happened with Quinn—”

Kurt shook his head, not in the mood to work past that situation. He admitted, “I don't know what to say to you about that.” He wasn't really mad at anyone, just disappointed. And really freakin' annoyed. Finn shouldn't have asked; Quinn shouldn't have answered. That was all there was to it. 

Finn accepted what Kurt had said, nodding slowly. He told them that he hadn't told anyone. He bent down awkwardly low to wave a good-bye at Kurt's stomach. Kurt shot Blaine a bewildered look. “Be good for your dads, little guy.” 

Blaine smiled sweetly, patting Finn on the back. He locked the door behind him, twisting the knob and latching the hook. He braced his hand against the wall for support as he pulled his feet free from his wet boots without unlacing them first. “How are ya?” 

“I wasn't kidding about the shower,” Kurt remarked impatiently. His slender fingers circled around Blaine's wrist. “Let's go,” he ordered.

In the bathroom, Blaine peeled Kurt's clothes off before shedding out of his own. They exchanged a handful of heated kisses, although they behaved once they got inside of the tub. Kurt scrubbed his fingers through Blaine's thick hair, the many aches in his body beginning slowly to throb. Peace never settled for too long. 

Blaine's hand rested against Kurt's soapy lower back, his thumb pressed into a dimple above Kurt's ass. “I've got you,” he muttered comfortingly. 

[xoxo]

“Are you kidding me? Do you know what time their flight lands?” Blaine asked, holding his cellphone to his ear by cocking his head and hitching his shoulder up. He balanced a brown bag of Italian take-out from one of Kurt's favorite restaurants on his hip, fumbling one-handedly for his house keys. The thin keyring slipped off his finger. “Ah, crap. No, not that. My arms are kind of full right now, Finn. No, not _that_. I'll call you back, okay?” 

Blaine adjusted his grip around the heavy bag of food again. The tip of a fresh baguette stuck out far enough to poke him in the cheek. He knocked on the door, shivering as he called out Kurt's name. “Hey, it's me. Open up.” He listened for any sounds of movement from inside their apartment. He thought he might've heard an upbeat commercial jingle, but that'd been it. “Kurt?” He knocked again, harder. Oh, would you give him a minute? 

He gave Kurt about ten more seconds. Blaine set the food down in a puddle of dirty slush to pick up the keys. He unlocked the door with one swift flick of a wrist. He flew into their home, holding onto a breath. “Kurt?” Door opened wide behind him, he walked onto the cream-colored carpet with his wet boots still on.

Kurt snoozed on the sofa, head tilted and lips parted as he snored lightly. The front of his shirt had hidden up to reveal the pale underside of his round belly. Blaine dropped down to his knees beside the couch, pushing the hem of Kurt's shirt up farther. He let out a long sigh as he nuzzled Kurt's warm stomach, stroking the tight skin around his navel. Kurt lifted his head off the square pillow, blinking sleepily. 

Blaine brushed his lips along a faint stretch mark. “You're going to be mad,” he teased. Kurt didn't say anything, he just cupped his hand to the back of Blaine's neck. “Your dad and Carole are on their way to an airport. Guess where they're headed?”

“Why's the door open? 'M cold,” Kurt slurred tiredly. Blaine hadn't heard that complaint in, oh, about twenty-six weeks. He frowned worriedly, reaching up to feel Kurt's furrowed forehead. Blaine pushed off his knees to sit along the edge of the sofa. “Blaine, door.”

Oh. Right.

Blaine got up to bring in the food (whoops at the bag's soaked-through bottom) and, finally, close that damned door. He stopped by their bathroom after leaving the kitchen to grab an electronic thermometer out of the medicine cabinet. He'd taken the past week off to stay with Kurt. He hoped for a few more days (his manager said she'd get back to him by the end of the weekend), wanting to keep a close eye on Kurt to make sure he didn't develop any kind of infection. 

By the time Blaine waltzed back into the room, Kurt had shifted into an upright position. His lips were pinched to the side, hair disheveled. The movements that aggravated his pain the most were when he'd go from lying to sitting or sitting to standing. He rubbed a hand up and down the length of his arm. Blaine checked his forehead again, the thermometer hidden from Kurt's sight. 

He prodded gently at the side of Kurt's stubbly jaw. He asked, “Open up?” Blaine jolted his hips back and let out a startled, high-pitched laugh as Kurt tried to unbuckle his belt. “Not for that,” he exclaimed. 

Kurt stuck his lower lip out. “Why not?” He asked playfully, tracing the tip of his pointer finger down the (unfortunately closed) fly of Blaine's jeans with the slightest amount of pressure. Blaine showed him the thermometer. “Yeah,” Kurt decided after a beat. “I don't like that game.” 

“Come on, Kurt.” 

“Come on, Blaine.” Kurt tipped his chin down slightly to look up at Blaine through his thick, fluttery eyelashes. “All I want is a little taste,” he said with an adorably exaggerated pout. However so, Blaine would only continue his stern staredown with Kurt. Yeah, he wasn't about to budge one bit. “Um, rude. For as long as I'm 'with child,' I am entitled to that dick. Them's the rules,” he explained through a deep drawl. 

Blaine touched lightly over Kurt's slack mouth, huffing out a short gasp when Kurt slid his tongue over the pad of his thumb. He waved the thin thermometer under Kurt's nose. “Put this under your tongue. I need to go, uh. I need to go call your brother back.”

Ah, a mention of Finn. Kurt's shoulders sagged. “Well,” he muttered tonelessly. “There's a sure way to put out the fire.”

Crap. Kurt had a low-grade fever of one hundred point three degrees. He cleared the glowing numbers off the tiny screen. All his temperature had needed to be was point one of a degree above normal for Blaine to freak out, so whatever. If Blaine didn't tone down his honey-thick levels of condescension very soon, Kurt was going to... Um, cry. He would totally put Blaine in his place, though, but only after he got in a good cry. 

“They got a six o'clock flight out. Finn said he'll... Kurt, honey. What's wrong?”

Kurt leaned heavily into the arm of the couch, turning his head to hide his crumpled face and wet cheeks. It'd been too long of a week (with the dragging promise of more to follow), all of it spent cooped up and loopy on drugs. He had weeks to go until he would start to feel better, and he couldn't help but to feel fed up with everything; Kurt felt as if there wasn't anything left in his life that he had control over. He felt weak, physically and mentally. He hurt so much. 

“It's... Nothing. I'm...” Kurt's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. A twinge in his side from shrinking back and rocking forward had left him gasping for air he couldn't draw in. He shoved at Blaine's shoulder when got too close. “Stop!” Oh, would you give me a minute? He wanted to shout. Kurt fought for a slow, deep inhale. He rested his palm over his stomach where the baby encouraged him with twitchy kicks and punches. “He gets, gets so nervous when that happens.”

“That makes two of us,” Blaine said slowly. “Better now? You... Gosh, I know you're sick of me asking, but are you okay?”

Kurt looked down at his hands, his fingers crookedly twisted in the fabric of his shirt. He shrugged and reminded him, “My breathing's been on and off like that.” He'd gotten better at the several deep inhales he had been instructed to do every hour. Kurt reached out to graze Blaine's wrist, offering him an apologetic smile for pushing him away. 

“That seemed more like a panic attack, Kurt.” He felt Kurt's forehead again, although his hands were still too cold from being outside to judge how warm Kurt's skin felt. His concerned gaze dropped down to the discarded thermometer on the coffee table. “Do you have a fever?”

“Barely. Ah-ah. None of that, sweetheart. I see the doctor on Monday, Blaine.” He pinky-swore that if the fever got worse in the next few days, they'd hurry to the ER. “Uh-oh,” he laughed suddenly. “Someone just got the hiccups again.” He put on a wide smile for Blaine. “Hey, do I smell food?”

“You do. Hungry? I'll go grab you a plate of—” Kurt hooked his thumb into the small gap in-between the buttons on Blaine's checkered shirt. He brought his other hand up to rub at Blaine's flat stomach, appreciative and maybe a little envious. 

“No,” he told him. “I'll get it. I think my butt's fallen asleep.” He grunted as he stood up, his back arching through a long stretch where he folded his arms behind his head. Kurt yawned, ready for another nap after a late lunch. “Wait, did you say something about my parents?”

Blaine chuckled, looking off to the side. “Yeah, they'll be here tonight.” He wasn't surprised. If Burt and Carole hadn't gone away for Valentine's Day, he suspected they would have flown in days ago. He followed Kurt into the kitchen, humming a cheerful tune. “I can't wait to see Burt's face when he gets his first eyeful of this.” He'd hugged Kurt from behind to grope his belly. Kurt laughed, stroking his fingers over Blaine's hands. 

“Yeah, yeah. You done good.” 

Blaine buried his face into the crook of Kurt's neck, swaying his hips to the song playing in his head. He prodded the side of Kurt's stomach absently, and then backed away abruptly after he'd felt something push back into his hand. “Whoa, did he—? He did! Oh my god,” he gasped in awe. He poked at Kurt's belly again, laughing as the baby shifted purposely against his fingers.

“You mind if I eat while you two play?” Kurt asked, mouth watering for the shrimp alfredo he knew was in one of the white containers on the counter. “Ooh, did you get any of those mozzarella knots?” 

Kurt sat up on a three-legged stool, picking the shrimp out of the pasta with his fingers. He fed one to a distracted Blaine, then licked off the creamy sauce he'd intentionally smeared across Blaine's bottom lip. That definitely seemed to capture Blaine's attention. He pawed at Kurt's shoulder, wanting a proper kiss. Kurt's mouth, however, was busily slurping on a fettuccine noodle. Blaine earned a snort from Kurt for trying to nip at the end of it.

“Get your own, Tramp.” 

[xoxo]

That night, Blaine joined Kurt on the couch after a quick phone call to his mother to update her and his father on Kurt and their super-amazing grandbaby. He curled up behind his fiancé, his chest nestled to Kurt's back. Kurt channel-surfed quietly, stopping randomly on a repeat of _I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant_. They nudged each other, rolling their eyes and snickering together through the ridiculous episode until they fell asleep during a commercial break. Quick, loud knocks at the front door eventually roused Blaine enough for him to snuffle into Kurt's shoulder. Kurt, without looking, patted Blaine right on his rump (which he then did again). 

“You gon' get that?” Blaine asked, hiding a smile as he knuckled the sleep out of his half-lidded eyes. He palmed Kurt's belly. “Or what about you, huh?” 

Kurt gasped softly, “OK. OK, you need to get the, um. The door.” He sat up, one hand braced under his distended stomach. “And I need to go pee,” he added hastily. 

At the door was, of course, Finn with his mom and Burt in tow. Blaine put on a look of elated surprise, his dark eyebrows shooting up. “Hey, guys!” He greeted, already accepting a hug and kiss on the cheek from Carole. She and Finn then brushed past him to get into the warm apartment. Burt stayed on the icy stoop, hands buried in the shallow pockets on his brown jacket. 

“How is he?” Burt asked in a low, gruff tone. He cleared his throat, stepping in a little closer toward Blaine. “How is he really?” Yeah, sure. He had chatted with Kurt plenty of times since he'd been discharged from the hospital. He knew his kid too darn well, though; Kurt had the same ol' habit of keeping select information from him as to not, like, worry him or whatever. Burt felt kind of smug 'cause he also knew Kurt would soon learn that it was a parent's job to always 'worry' about their child. 

“He's...” Blaine winced around a hesitant, “Better.” Kurt had a long road to recovery with his injury because of the pregnancy. Kurt needed for his ribcage to expand fully to accommodate the size of their bundle of energy as he grew. “Getting better, definitely. The medication he's on makes him sleepy, so he's been napping a lot, and that's... He needs it, you know?”

Burt pressed his lips together, nodding his head. He patted Blaine's shoulder, tugging him into an one-armed hug. “And what 'bout you, kid? How you holdin' up?”

Blaine jerked around as Carole squealed at Kurt, who had just walked out from the bathroom. “Oh my god,” she flailed a bit too enthusiastically. “Look at you!” 

“What about me?” Blaine echoed weakly, watching in amusement as Finn used his cellphone to record Carole's unsteady jig around a glowing, bashful Kurt. “As long as they're okay, I'm okay.”

“Yeah, well. You're doin' one hell of a good job with them.” Burt couldn't quite hold back a deep rumble of laughter as he took in the sight of son's spectacularly widely round stomach. He refrained from referring to it as Kurt's 'beer belly.' He chuckled, speechless. 

“Burt,” Carole's voice rang out. She'd taken out a Barbie pink digital camera (a Christmas gift from Rachel), and Blaine heard a terse mention from Kurt about how he was not dressed accordingly for any photos.

Blaine nudged Burt with his elbow, grinning. “Get over there and hug 'em, grandpa.”

“Oof, 'grandpa.'” Burt adjusted the faded baseball cap on his head. Picking up a silver bag he'd set down on the ground, he headed into the apartment. “Hear that, grandma?”

“Oh, Burt. None of those pictures did this cute little belly any justice,” Carole cooed. Once she'd gotten the OK from Kurt, she fitted her hand to the side of his stomach. His abdomen felt hard and warm under her cautious touch. 

“'Little'? I'm six months pregnant, Carole.” Kurt paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait, 'pictures'?” He shot a wicked look at Blaine, who wasn't very discreet in pointing a finger at Finn as he scratched under his nose.

Burt handed the gift bag to Blaine without saying anything, his gaze still locked on Kurt. He walked up to him, holding his arms out. Kurt hugged him as tightly as he could. “Lookin' good,” Burt said. He kissed the top of Kurt's head.

“I'm lookin' fat,” Kurt huffed. “So far, the little guy's brought twenty-five pounds with him.”

Finn squinted, lowering his cellphone slowly. “Whoa, whoa. The baby's twenty-five pounds? Isn't that, like, a lot?” He leaned in close to Kurt to ask, “How the heck are you gonna birth that? And where, um, where exactly does—”

Kurt scowled. “Get away from me right now, Finn.”

“Ooh, speaking of the 'little guy,' you boys settle on any names yet?” Carole asked, pulling on Finn's arm to aim him away from Kurt.

“I know I have a few names in mind, but we're probably going to hold off on one 'til we meet him officially.” Kurt winked at Blaine, sharing a smile with him. He then flinched and backed away from his father. “Sorry, I need to... Sit down.” 

Blaine asked Finn to go out into the kitchen and pour Kurt a glass of water. It was about time for his next pill. Burt sat down next to Kurt on the couch.

Kurt brushed off Burt's concern. “I'm fine, dad. It's the baby, he's not... He's not kicking in a good place, ow.” He tapped on the back of Burt's hand until he unclasped his hands, and then showed him where to feel the baby's erratic movements. 

Blaine smiled, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Burt's eyes widen in absolute awe. 

“That's...” 'Amazing,' if anything, was an understatement. Burt exhaled slowly, his opened mouth twitching. Kurt beamed proudly, looking up at Blaine.

“It is,” he agreed. “He is.”

[xoxo]


	7. Chapter 7

[xoxo]

The headboard creaked as Kurt shifted against it, a pillow wedged behind his back. He adjusted a bed sheet around his shoulders and waist, pulling at the corners until they were draped across his naked torso. Knees bent, he tucked his feet under a plaid duvet. “I'm on to you,” he said to Blaine in a casual manner. 

Blaine looked up from the scrub top he had been ironing. “What?” he asked, bending over to unplug the hot iron from the wall socket. Kurt took a lengthy moment to appreciate his partner's smooth, well-toned back. Blaine eyed him, amused. He repeated another, “What?”

“Oh, um. You're not very subtle, is all.” He was referring to the daily parade of friends (babysitters) he had stopping by the apartment to visit (check up on) him. Yesterday's scheduled spy had been Mike; he'd needed for Kurt to repair a large hole in his “most favorite pair of jeans.” “You should know that.” 

“Duly noted,” Blaine said in all his half-naked glory. Kurt wanted to wipe the smile off Blaine's face (with his mouth, though. He wanted to kiss it away). He tried not to whimper as Blaine slipped the crease-free shirt over his head. “So, what's on your agenda for today?” 

Kurt huffed at him, “As if you don't already know.” Tina had sent him a text the other day, asking if he'd go out on a shopping date with her. She wanted his help on deciding which dress and accessories she should wear to her cousin's wedding. “I'm very 'in demand' right now.”

Blaine chose to ignore Kurt's caustic tone. “You are,” he agreed. He padded over to sit with him and tug at his makeshift toga. He pondered teasingly, “What are you hiding under here?” as he pushed down enough fabric to reveal a pale shoulder. “There we go,” he mumbled. Blaine bent down to kiss chastely at the skin.

“Uh-huh. Nice try, but that isn't going to distract me from... Ah, who am I kidding?” He held Blaine's head with both of his hands. He gasped as Blaine's wet, hot mouth traveled downward. It wouldn't take much for him to fall apart. “D—don't stop,” he whispered. He begged a breathless, “Please.” 

Blaine traced a heart over Kurt's bare knee before sliding his fingers down to squeeze at the inside of Kurt's thigh. He liked Kurt's weight gain; there was more for him to grab and hold. He brought his legs up on the bed to lie beside Kurt, to lick inside his mouth while he pumped his hand around Kurt's dick. 

“Bl—Blaine. Mmm,” Kurt panted heavily. “Blaine, oh.” He sucked on Blaine's tongue, whining and undulating his hips as Blaine roughly thumbed over the slick head of his cock. It only took a few slow strokes for him to come. He dug into Blaine's scalp with blunt fingernails, crying out through a shout. 

Blaine broke the kiss only to swoop in again, crashing his mouth against Kurt's a little harder than before. He plucked a bunch of tissues from the striped Kleenex box on the nightstand, using them to clean up the mess between Kurt's legs. “Oh, you.. You are... I wish we had time for more of that.” He pushed up and away from Kurt.

“W—what, that's all I get? A freakin' handjob?” Kurt rounded his shoulders, his elbows sinking into the pillow crammed under his lower back. “Blaine, I am carrying your child.”

“How long are you going to use that, the 'carrying your child' line?” Blaine couldn't help but to love the dramatic emphasis Kurt used when uttering the words.

“Until I birth your child, Blaine.” Kurt smiled into another kiss, laughing bubbly as Blaine rubbed his nose against the tip of Kurt's. He ducked down abruptly to pat and bid adieu to Kurt's belly. Kurt pouted. “Do you—”

“Yes,” Blaine sighed. “I do.” He took his wallet and a comb off the top of the top of their bedside table. “Sue said she'd shave off one of my eyebrows and then shove me into 'The Chokey' if I'm late again or take anymore time off.”

Kurt tilted his chin up, the corners of his mouth tugging down. “Why only one?” Blaine looked puzzled by the question.

“I don't... I don't know?” He pecked two kisses to Kurt's forehead. “Have a good time with Tina. Oh, and don't forget to text me a picture of the dress.” He sighed again, dragging the breath out slowly. “Call me if there are any—if you...?”

Wow, Blaine really needed to relax. Kurt had only celebrated the start of his third trimester, like, two days ago. They still had at least thirteen weeks left. “Hey?” Kurt reached out for Blaine's hand. “Why don't you hit the gym after work?”

Blaine looked doubly puzzled by the request. “Um, the gym?”

“To box, honey. Please? I know you want to, so do it. For me?” By the way, Kurt wasn't asking; he had already renewed Blaine's gym membership. He'd also talked to Tina about setting Blaine up on a bunch of playdates with Mike. “You've got to.”

“Why?”

Kurt stretched his limbs out, grabbing loose fistfuls of the sheet to cover himself back up. He didn't usually sleep in the nude. He had felt too tired and lazy to put anything on after he'd taken a hot shower before bed to relieve muscle cramps.

Kurt's body language must have spelled out something for Blaine. He sat down on the bed again, his voice gentle as he said Kurt's name. 

“I'm feeling better, okay?” The achy pain in the upper side of his ribcage was still bitter and constant, but he no longer choked on and sputtered for air whenever he'd breathe in too deep. “You don't always have to be... Here. With me. Just saying.”

“Aw, Kurt. Are you getting bored of me?” Blaine had been joking, his tone light and smile bright. Exasperation flickered in Kurt's eyes, though, and he frowned. 

“No,” he stated sharply. “I don't want you to get... I don't want to suffocate you.” Although he loved how Blaine had been there to hold his hand every step (and misstep) of the way, Kurt thought Blaine should get in some time to himself, too.

“Kurt, no. Through all of this, there hasn't been one moment where I wanted to be anywhere else.” There wasn't any place he'd rather be than with Kurt and their unborn child. “Hey, look at me. I could never get bored of you. I'm serious, it's not possible.”

Kurt stared at him intently, his eyes wet and red. “You're going to be late for work.”

“Look, if that's what you want... If that's what will make you happy, I'll go to the gym a few times a week.” He had no problem getting back into boxing, although he knew his concentration would most definitely be off. He was a little overprotective, so sue 'im. 

Kurt erupted with a distressed, “Not when you put it like that!”

“Calm down—”

“If you ever tell me to 'calm down' again, I will sit on you.”

Blaine pushed his lips together, smirking. “Oh. Oh?” He put his hand on Kurt's thigh, rubbing fast, hard circles into his skin through the fabric. “You will 'sit on me,' is that right?”

“Yes,” Kurt confirmed tightly. He warned, “Don't,” and growled out, “Blaine.”

“Hey?” Blaine leaned into him, pressing his mouth against the curve of Kurt's ear. “I think I'd like that.” He slid his thumb under Kurt's chin, lifting it slightly. “Hey?” He repeated softly. “You were right. I do, I've wanted to box for a while now. I needed the push, so thank you.”

Kurt blinked, his eyelashes matted with tears. “Yeah?”

“Gosh, Kurt.” He kissed his ear lobe, his cheek, and the side of his mouth. “I love you so much,” he whispered. Blaine swiped the pad of a finger under Kurt's eye. “No more of that, okay?”

“I'm a hormonal fruitloop,” Kurt complained loudly. He had full-on bawled through an episode of The Amazing Race the other night, no lie. 

Blaine offered a weak, “I like Fruit Loops?” His stomach growled. 

“You know you're about to run late, right?” Kurt could already hear the sinister buzz of Nurse Sylvester's infamous electric razor. He pushed up to plant a kiss over one of Blaine's eyebrows. “I'm going to miss you the most.”

Blaine hugged him, laughing into his hair. He fitted his hand against the underside of Kurt's stomach, waiting shortly for a kick. “Have a good time with Tina. You deserve it.”

“I shall,” Kurt promised sweetly. “Oh, wait.” He patted Blaine's tush. “Your gym bag's in the closet hall.”

“Of course. Packed?”

Kurt smiled cheekily. “Of course.”

[xoxo]

Tina rose up on the balls of her feet, laughing giddily even as she burst into tears. She fanned her face with her hand, brushing blonde-streaked bangs out of her eyes. “You look so good,” she cried happily to Kurt. She paid compliments to his apparent “glow” and the wondrous beauty of his swollen stomach. His head spun 'round and 'round at her “pregnancy suits you” comment. Girl, no.

Kurt stayed decidedly quiet, turning away from a sniffling Tina as he zipped up his military-style jacket (and rolled his eyes). Her over-enthusiastic reaction to his (admittedly stunning) physical appearance had gotten old. Now, once in a while? Sure, he could handle that. It was, however, complete overkill for her mascara to run every time they met up. He handed her a tissue. 

Before they headed out for their mall adventure, Kurt brought her to the nursery for a look-see. Last week, Burt and Finn had helped Blaine paint the walls a rich teal color. The dark coral carpet Kurt had picked out wouldn't be delivered for another few days. They'd moved the fixed-side crib to their bedroom while the nursery was 'under construction' (no, really. Finn had taped up a black and yellow sign on the door).

“Are you sure you're up for this?” Tina asked worriedly, watching Kurt's face after he'd managed to awkwardly cram his aching body into her Mini Cooper. The tops of his thighs were shoved into his stomach. He nodded his head, looking down at his pregnant belly as he rubbed his hands over it. Tina still appeared dubious. She asked hesitantly if he needed any help with buckling his seat belt.

“Somehow, Tina, I think I'll manage.” (He ended up eating his words 'cause he couldn't twist to his left side without pain flaring up through his chest). 

They'd been in the crowded department for about fifteen minutes when a gorgeous dress had caught Tina's eye from, of all places, a picked-through clearance rack. Not only did it fit perfectly, but it also cost a lot less than she'd expected to spend. On their way to the escalator to go off in search of coordinating heels, they happened to walk by the baby apparel section.

Tina squealed at a baby bodysuit decorated all over with dancing bananas. She pointed at the monkey-faced booties and matching bib that were attached to the tiny outfit. She stopped to coo at a monkey-print overall set. “Look, it comes with a little monkey hat. Ooh! They have a bear set, too. Have you... Kurt?”

Kurt had stepped off to the side to stare dazedly at a wall display of infant and toddler-sized shoes. He smiled warmly, picking up a small high-top sneaker. He stroked his palm over his belly as the baby tossed and turned during his late morning nap. Kurt had noticed he also liked to settle down again around dinner time. “You like these, huh? Me too.”

Tina popped up beside him, looping her arm through his. “Cute! Do you already have a drawer full of them?” 

“No,” he said quietly. He and Blaine had only bought a few things for the nursery. They hadn't gotten out much with Kurt on semi-limited bed rest. Burt and Carole had given them their son's first outfit, a pinstriped romper with raglan sleeves. He closed his fingers around the sturdy little shoe. Oh, god. He was already failing him. “He... he doesn't have anything, Tina.”

“Whoa, no. You've still got a lot of time left to get him what he needs,” she reminded him. Tina wasn't used to him being the one with tears springing out of their eyes. She gently nudged her hip against Kurt's. “Besides, that's what baby showers are for. Believe me, he's gonna be so spoiled.” She motioned her hands to a wicker chair located under a broken price checker.

“I'm okay,” he sighed. Kurt put the shoe back on the shelf, wondering if he should wait for Blaine before buying any baby stuff. Blaine probably wouldn't mind it much if he did, but Kurt liked the idea of them doing it together. He turned away, a gasp flying out of his mouth as he was drawn to a four-piece baby tuxedo set. He pinched at the mini bowtie. “Oh, my god. It has a cummerbund.”

“Perfect for James Bond Anderson-Hummel,” Tina joked. She glanced down at his stomach, kind of bummed out about Kurt banning her from baby-talking to it. “Have you guys decided on any names yet?” She could tell by Kurt's facial expression that he was becoming annoyed by that question. Tina would've giggled if his glare hadn't been so darned murderous.

“Gosh, you sound like Blaine's mother. She wants to do a cross-stitch with his name for the nursery.” She called or e-mailed them every few days for any possible name updates (and to push a few suggestions). Kurt had no idea where Mrs. Anderson found time for all the crocheting and cross-stitching she did; she worked full-time at a real estate agency and had a part-time job elsewhere, too. 

Kurt pushed the tip of his tongue into the inside of his bottom lip as he used his cellphone to snap a picture of the infant shoes he had been looking at. He smiled to himself, sending the image to in a text message to Blaine. He then exhaled sharply, caught off-guard by how his belly tightened uncomfortably to go from firm to seemingly rock-hard. He pressed a hand to his stomach.

Tina shook an orange tattle next to his ear. She asked, “Ready to go downstairs?” Her eyes followed Kurt's blank, wide-eyed stare to the vertical rows of colorful baby shoes. “Or did you maybe want to make a purchase, hmm? Go for it, Kurt.”

“Go for what?” Kurt mumbled distractedly, not looking down even as he felt his cellphone buzz and buzz with text message alerts. Blaine must've been on a break or taken an early lunch. 

“If you don't,” Tina said in a singsong voice, “I will.”

Kurt blocked her out without meaning to. The Braxton Hicks contractions weren't painful, per se; 'intensely annoying' seemed more like it. He righted an American flag pin on the collar of his jacket, fumbling through a bland joke about the baby dancing on his bladder. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Restrooms are way back there.” His pitch rose a little, his tone lighter. “Meet you in the shoe department?”

Tina shrugged, petting her fabulous dress where it was draped over her forearm. “I can wait?”

“No, no, no. Get movin', sister.” He snapped his fingers, the sound loud and crisp. “There are many, many, many pairs of young, hopeful pumps down there that have waited their entire lives to audition for the honor of being worn on your feet to Claudia's wedding. Go to them, Tina.” Go now, his arched eyebrow demanded. 

Tina smiled strangely. “Okay, sure.” 

He stood in the middle of the aisle until she walked out of sight. Kurt winced, reaching behind his back to press his knuckles into his lower back. Dr. Haas had suggested he try out a maternity belt; he'd said it'd provide abdominal support to ease away some of his back discomfort. The doctor had brushed off Kurt's whining, telling him he needed to 'embrace' his pregnancy. Funny guy, that doctor. 

Kurt sat down in the chair Tina had gestured at a few minutes ago. He pulled his cellphone out of a pocket to call Blaine, laughing quietly as he felt his son jerk around. He patted his palm down his belly to tap his fingers around his protruding navel. It didn't surprise him when Blaine picked up on the second ring.

“Hi,” he breathed into the phone. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Kurt considered asking Blaine to sing to his uterus to calm it down. That worked on the baby, sometimes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Blaine asked, humming (and Kurt could practically hear him preening over the line). He tacked on a curious, “Did you buy them?” 

Kurt matched a woman's glare as she wobbled past him in a pair of stiletto boots that had too high of a heel for her to walk in without clomping awkwardly. He wiggled his hips, wishing he hadn't planted his behind on such a narrow seat. Kurt figured people would soon circle around him to watch a pregnant freak try to stand up. “Buy what?”

“Those adorable baby shoes, silly. Oh, my god. I just had a thought!” Blaine's speech sped up as he continued excitedly. “What if we, like, got matching sneakers in our own sizes, right? Then, you know, for our first family portrait we could—”

All at once, too many words wanted to fly out of Kurt's mouth. He fumbled through hasty and indistinct utterances, his mind blanking out eventually on everything except for two words. He echoed, “'Family portrait.'” Him, Blaine, and their son. The three of them, together. A family. He smiled, blinking away sudden tears.

“Am I being ridiculous?” Blaine laughed sheepishly. “I mean, we don't need to have, ah. Themed ones, I guess. That's, it's very... Corny, I know. Gosh, sorry.”

“Blaine, no. You're not, it's not...” Well, it was corny. A good kind of corny, though; maybe even an I-wouldn't-have-it-any-other-way kind of corny. “I'm thinking 'themed ones' are a must. I want this kid to look back on his childhood pictures and be absolutely mortified. It's only fair, don't you think?” 

Blaine agreed, obviously thinking about how his darling mother had once been very fond of topping all his outfits off with a bonnet (hee, Kurt adored those baby photos; he looked forward to going through them whenever they would visit Blaine's parents' house). Kurt thought he heard the shuffling of papers as Blaine asked, “What are you doing?”

Kurt couldn't find it in him to give an outright lie or to humor Blaine with half-truths. “Resting,” he admitted. He retracted his shoulder blades, leaning back as he extended his legs out and pulled his toes back until he felt a stretch in his calf and hamstring muscles. “Only for a minute or two,” he added quickly. “By the way, I'm pretty sure I hurt less when I haven't been cooped up all day.” 

“Honey,” Blaine sighed out annoyingly (to Kurt) with too much emphasis on the second syllable. He inquired, “How would you rate your pain?”

“I'm not one of your patients, Blaine.”

Blaine clicked his tongue, harrumphing. “Give me a number from zero to ten.”

Kurt mimicked the noises Blaine had just made. “Pre-pregnancy,” he started, “I'd give myself a ten.” He talked over Blaine's “Huh?” by thanking his “beer gut, stretchmarks, and thunder thighs” for his current ranking of “probably about a two.” “I'll be spiraling down into the negatives once this baby's out and my stomach's all loose and floppy.”

“No way, Kurt. Don't, please don't put yourself down like that. I really hope you don't think so lowly of yourself,” Blaine said. “I... You're gorgeous, babe. I mean, wow... You've only gotten more gorgeous since we met, and that's not going to change after the baby's born.”

Yeah, right. Kurt studied his fingernails, indifferent. “Oh, I see. Did you not hear the part about how floppy my stomach's going to be? I'm talking like 'deflated hot-air balloon' floppy.”

Blaine huffed, “Stop using that word.”

“Do you think I'll be able to fit into my suit for the wedding?” He turned his head slightly to glance hesitantly at the rack of baby tuxedos. “Oh. Oh, god. I'm going to have to invest in Spanx, aren't I? You're going to marry a guy wearing Spanx, Blaine.”

“No,” Blaine said. “I'm going to marry the love of my life, the man who's bringing our child into the world. He's amazing, don't you know?” 

Kurt's cheeks felt warm. He palmed the side of his belly, ignoring an elderly man's obnoxious stare at his plump stomach. The false labor contractions had already stopped, so he was grateful for that. “All right, you're giving me a toothache. I need to go catch up with Tina. I wouldn't doubt it if she thinks I'm buying out the entire baby department.”

“I'd guess she only expects you to 'buy out' half of the department,” Blaine told him. He rose his voice over a muffled voice in the background, “We don't need anything from the girls section.”

Kurt perked up, ready to jump the gun. “Don't tell me how to dress my baby.”

Blaine laughed (Kurt was very serious, though). “I'm not, I'm not. Take it easy, okay? Thanks... Thanks for calling me,” he said gently.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Kurt repeated with a smile on his lips. 

“Right. I'll see you later, Kurt.”

“Bye, daddy.” Blaine stayed on the phone for half a moment, quiet. Kurt knew he was grinning giddily, for sure. He disconnected the call, his eyes bugging out when he realized Tina was standing above him.

“Need a hand?” She asked, smirking knowingly.

Kurt tapped his fingers against the armrest. “You have no idea.”

[xoxo]

Kurt frowned around the straw in his mouth. He checked the time on his cellphone's lock screen for the umpteenth time in ten minutes as he sucked down the rest of his peach smoothie. He sat on a padded bench outside of the room where weekly childbirth classes were held, waiting patiently for his tardy 'birth coach.' The elevator across from him dinged twice, its doors sliding open. A pregnant guy carrying a yoga mat under his arm waddled out, not Blaine. 

The stranger noticed him first, his friendly smile greeting Kurt once his eyes traveled up from the blond-haired man's round stomach. “Welcome to the club,” the guy grinned. He twirled his hands around his big belly, making firework noises out of the side of his mouth as his fingers shot straight up. Kurt couldn't stop his eyebrows from lifting up. He glanced quickly at his phone again, frowning. “Is this your first? You look like this is your first.”

Kurt nodded in response, unsure if he should trust what would pour out of his mouth. His mind seemed to be working against him lately, he most certainly had noticed. He found himself getting lost in his daily routine, sometimes forgetting the simplest of things or misplacing everyday items. Whenever he'd get flustered, Blaine would piss him off by urging him to “calm down” in a low voice that Kurt thought sounded more condescending than soothing. Kurt asked, “This isn't your... Um, first?”

The guy held up two fingers, beaming proudly.

“Really? It sucks going through this once, I couldn't imagine doing it again.” He'd recently made a similar comment to Blaine, whose face had fallen at the remark. Kurt wasn't ruling out a second child... Not completely, anyway. The grandparents had 'joked' about how he wasn't “done” until he had a girl, too. That had prompted Finn to tease Kurt about how he and Blaine would probably end up with five boys before they'd get that baby girl. 

“'Sucks' is putting it mildly, but I can do something my wife can't, so I'm up to bat,” he said. A fond smile was paired with a mockingly dry tone; Kurt guessed an inside joke between the man and his wife had gone over his head. Dude was having his wife's babies. Kind of. Kurt felt nosy, wanting badly to ask some questions about that, but he managed to hold it all in. The guy appeared oblivious to Kurt's mental struggle to mind his own business. “Again. So, when are you due?”

Not soon enough, Kurt wanted to grunt. “About ten weeks,” he said. His original due date had been pushed back a few days by Dr. Haas. Now it fell right on Kurt's birthday. He played with his straw, bending the tip. The lid popped off the plastic cup. 

“It's going to be here before you know it, pal.” Oof, pal. The man paused to wave at someone down the hall from them. “My due date is supposed to be April thirtieth, but considering I was three and a half weeks late with my first...” He chuckled. “Yeah, it's not much of a deadline.”

“Three... Three and a half weeks? That's... That's, like, an extra month!” Kurt looked down with wild eyes, laying a hand over his stomach. “Don't you get any ideas,” he warned.

The elevator sounded another arrival. Kurt leaned to the side to see past his new friend. Blaine just about rocketed out of the lift. “Kurt. Kurt, honey. I am so, so sorry.”

“Calm down, Blaine.” Ooh, nice. Kurt liked turning the tables to use those two 'precious' words on his partner oh so much. “Class doesn't even start for another five minutes.”

“I know, but...” Blaine put a hand over his heart, frowning a little. “I don't like to keep you waiting.”

Kurt's face split into a very wide, very pleased smile.

The man looked back and forth between them. “Oh, wow. You two are cute. Louisa and I have some major competition.” 

“This is my fiancé, Blaine. Blaine, this is... I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?” Kurt pointed at himself. “Kurt, by the way.”

“Tom,” the guy said. “Hi.”

“Hi! Blaine, this is Tom. He's, uh. Him and his wife are, uh. He's again...” Kurt shook his head, cheeks flushing red. “Pregnant again. Second time, again. Ah, not again again for the second time, but again.” He mouthed 'again,' frowning at how foreign the word suddenly seemed. Yikes. “Tom, this is Blaine. He's the reason for my scrambled brain.” 

Blaine looked surprised, but Kurt knew he wouldn't pry about the “and his wife” part. “Hey, congratulations. How old is your first?” Tom told them that his daughter (whose name left Kurt and Blaine exchanging a “wait, isn't that the name of a planet?” look) had turned two last month, and then he announced he and Louisa would be celebrating the birth of another daughter. “Two girls, wow.” 

Tom's wife was the next person to come up on the elevator. Kurt and Blaine were the first couple among their tight-knit group of friends to start a family, so it was especially nice for them to meet other expectant parents. They entered the classroom together, Blaine's hand moving down from between Kurt's shoulder blades to rest into the dip of Kurt's lower back. He kissed Kurt on the cheek, apologizing for his lateness again.

Part of the topic for today's class focused on “signs of labor.” Next week's would deal with 'techniques for coping with pain.' Yeah, there was some vital information Kurt could have used during the past five weeks. The doctor had told them the rib 'appeared' healed in Kurt's latest x-ray films, but Dr. Haas had also cautioned him about his “ripening” cervix and how he shouldn't overdo it with yoga and exercising.

“We've still got daylight left,” Kurt remarked brightly as he and Blaine exited the building after they'd been let out of class. Even with a slight chill in the air, the weather was still unusually warm for March. “Care to take a walk through the park with me, Mr. Anderson?”

Blaine unlinked their fingers to offer his arm to Kurt. “It'd be my honor, Mr. Hummel.”

“Damn, you weren't kidding.” Tom and his pint-sized wife hadn't been too far behind them. Louisa elbowed Tom lightly. “They are cute.”

Kurt stayed pensively quiet for part of the time. He stopped walking abruptly, his arm pulling away from Blaine's. “I wanted to ask you something,” he admitted nervously. “Or, well. I wanted to 'run something by you,' I guess.”

Blaine smiled warily. “Go on.”

“A while ago... Actually, a long while ago... You, uh, you mentioned maybe wanting to drop 'Anderson' and go only with 'Hummel,' right?” Kurt fidgeted with the red scarf Blaine had draped loosely around his neck long before they'd gotten to the park. It smelled a little like Blaine's cologne.

“Right,” Blaine affirmed slowly. His cheeks ached from straining as he tried not to smile.

“If you still wanted to, I would be okay with it. I mean, we obviously can't change what's already been printed for the wedding, but... Legally, yeah. 'Mr. and Mr. Kurt and Blaine Hummel.'” He pressed his finger against Blaine's mouth to cut him off from asking any needless questions. “I am. I'm sure,” he promised. “Very sure.”

Blaine squinted his eyes, suspicious. He cocked his head to the side. “You... You're compromising.” He kissed the cold pad of Kurt's finger, rubbing his hand down Kurt's forearm. “Why, what it is?” He then gasped, “Oh! Oh, my. You really did. You settled on a name for the baby.”

Kurt smiled guiltily. “How do you feel about...” He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can't, gah. What if you don't like the name? What if the name doesn't suit him?”

“Tell me.” Blaine spun him back around, grabbing hold on Kurt's wrists. “Kurt.”

“I've been... Kind of, um? Kind of already calling him by it.” He verified, “In my head.” Kurt wetted his lips, smiling uneasily. “It's not 'unique' like the name of a planet or a moon or whatever. I don't know.”

Blaine heaved out an exaggerated sigh, chuckling. “Tell me the name of our son, Kurt.”

Kurt pressed his lips together, hopping up on the balls of his feet. Wet gravel crunched under his boots. “Charles,” he gushed. “Charles B. Hummel.”

Blaine let go of Kurt's wrists to stroke his hands up and down Kurt's belly through the layers upon layers of clothing. “Charles,” he repeatedly warmly. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Hi there, Charlie.”

“Charles,” Kurt corrected stiffly. He would have to prepare himself for an uphill battle when it'd come to people nicknaming his child.

“It's perfect.”

Kurt let out a sigh of relief. “Naturally,” he preened. “What?” He made a face at the adorably ridiculous grin on Blaine's face. “What?”

“Our baby has a name,” Blaine whispered. That was all it took; Kurt flew forward, nearly knocking Blaine off his feet as he flung his arms around him. Blaine nosed the scarf out of the way to nuzzle and kiss the side of Kurt's neck. His hands moved down to steady Kurt's swaying hips. “I think Finn's going to be disappointed that we didn't, in fact, name him 'Pistol.'” 

“Boo-hoo,” Kurt deadpanned. He glanced down to where his heavy stomach was sandwiched snugly between them. “Anyway, 'Sir' was a very close second.”

Blaine leaned back enough to look Kurt in the eye. “'Sir'? As in... 'Sir Hummel' or 'Sir Charles Hummel'?”

Kurt hesitated before replying with a vague, “Yes.” He gasped inaudibly at his fiancé's rumbling laugh. “Oh my, Blaine. My, my, my. I still can't believe we're going to be parents.” And soon? Married parents! 

“I can,” Blaine said.

“I see. Is this the part where you confess to poking holes in every condom we've ever used?” He shivered, able to feel the slow stretch of Blaine's grin against his skin. He craned his neck back as Blaine nipped lightly at it. “Or the part where we get arrested for public indecency?”

“Mm-hmm. It's still winter, you know.” Blaine tugged on the bottom of Kurt's unfastened coat. “Can we zip this up, please?”

Kurt backed away. “No, we can't. Like, physically can't.”

“Already? I thought it was new.” Newish, at least. Probably. Maybe? Kind of newish, then. Oh, whatever. 

“'New'? Hardly! Besides, rude much?” Kurt paused briefly, momentarily distracted by Blaine's long eyelashes. “I'm a growing boy, Blaine.”

“Mm-hmm. Speaking of 'a growing boy,' how would you like to—”

“Oh, is this a penis joke?” Kurt asked, unimpressed. Blaine scoffed, clutching at Kurt's coat to reel him in until he was pressed up against him again. 

“No, Kurt. It's not a 'penis joke.'” He rolled his eyes, sighing in a long breath. “Wouldn't you agree that Charlie's bedroom walls are awfully bare?”

Hell yeah. Blaine was indirectly suggesting a shopping trip. Kurt smiled wickedly. “Only at the moment?”

Blaine kissed him, soft and quick. “Only at the moment.”

[xoxo]

“Hey, you ready to get out?” Blaine called out to Kurt, sliding around on the hardwood floor in ankle socks as he shimmied into a pair of cropped skinny jeans. He shrugged into a merino cardigan, buttoning it up quickly over a polo shirt. His fingers stilled. “You with me, babe?”

Kurt's sleepily mumbled reply was instantaneous. “Not one bit.”

Blaine poked his head into the bathroom, although not before rapping gently on the door. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, his gaze jumping from Kurt to an oval-shaped mirror that was fogged up with steam. Kurt was lying in the claw-foot tub, blanketed under a massive amount of bubbles. 

“That's not too hot... Is it?”

“Hmm? No, go away.” Kurt threatened, “I'll splash you!” He fitted his foot over the plug as Blaine dropped to his knees beside the bathtub. “I feel wonderful,” he sighed contently. He adjusted the rolled-up hand towel under his neck, his eyes slipping shut. “I am not getting out.”

“Yeah, well. We have lunch reservations in an hour.” Blaine blew at the bubbles, clearing a spot to dip his fingers into the water. “Kurt, no. Way, way too hot.”

“I feel wonderful,” Kurt repeated petulantly in a shrill voice. Blaine reached across him to twist the faucet to the right. A steady stream of cold water poured out. Kurt's breath hitched in his throat. “Blaine, stop. I've barely gotten any sleep in two days. Give me this, okay?” 

Blaine rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few nights, either. He wished he hadn't promised Rachel he'd get Kurt out of the apartment by noon so she and Tina could set up for Kurt's surprise baby shower. Blaine caressed Kurt's flushed cheek. 

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Oh, no. I'm still adding the cold water, but I am sorry for rushing you.”

Kurt stroked his wet fingers along the back of Blaine's hand. He offered him an unusually shy smile. “You could... You know, join me.”

“That's...” He wetted his lips, eyes lighting up. “That's an idea.” A brilliant... No, fantastic... No, no. A freakin' awesome idea, yes. Oh, yes. Blaine glanced at the time. Damn, damn, damn. He needed to get Rachel off his back before she had a chance to interrupt them. “I'll, um. I'll be right back.” He hurried out of the bathroom, oblivious to the hurt look on Kurt's darkened face.

Blaine picked his cellphone from off their unmade bed (oops, he had told Kurt he'd make it). 'I don't think this is going to work out,' he typed to Rachel in a text message.

From Rachel: _Your only job is to get him OUT and AWAY from the apartment. You can do it._

To Rachel: _He's EIGHT MONTHS pregnant. You try telling him what to do._

Her next response was, “Fine!” (but in capital letters and with a dozen more exclamation points, of course). His cellphone vibrated in his hand with an incoming call from Rachel. He chose 'decline' over 'answer' (if he had pressed the red-colored option any harder, his thumb would have gone through the device).

To Rachel: _Yeah, it's going to be a while longer. I'll let you know when we leave, K?_

However, the water was completely drained from the tub by the time he got back into the bathroom. Kurt rinsed the suds off his pale body, quiet.

“Oh. You're done?” Blaine asked, showing his surprise and yet hiding his disappointment. He had already unfastened every button on his cardigan.

“Guess so,” Kurt replied shortly. His face was drawn tight in a way that left Blaine feeling unsettled. He turned his back to Blaine, covering his chest up with a towel. “What? Do you mind, I'm trying to—”

“What's wrong?” Blaine put his hand on the doorknob, his fingers molding around the circular handle. He tried not to step forward when Kurt's shoulders began to shake. 

“'What's wrong'? 'What's wrong' is that you never give me any freakin' privacy! Seriously, Blaine? I can't dry off without you buzzing behind me?”

Blaine didn't know what to say; he only knew what not to say (which was an apology, no matter how heartfelt). He was almost completely certain Kurt would throw a bottle of body wash at his head if he apologized again (for anything, whether it was his fault or not). His brain begged him to vamoose, to leave Kurt alone. His heart, on the other hand, demanded him to sit down on the ledge of the tub.

He turned around and... Listened to his heart.

Almost immediately after he lowered himself down to take a seat, Kurt leaned toward Blaine and shifted his body against the inside of the bathtub. He pressed his face into the middle of Blaine's back, his damp hair soaking through Blaine's sweater. Blaine folded his hands in his lap, quiet as he waited patiently for something.

“I started working on an updated resumé last night,” Kurt blurted out in a bitter tone. “It's not as impressive as I'd like.”

Blaine opened and closed his mouth, flabbergasted. That was what's been bothering Kurt, his work history? While Blaine wasn't sure what he had expected to come out of Kurt's mouth, it hadn't been that. “You only graduated last year.”

“But I could've done better... I should have done better,” Kurt huffed into Blaine's back. He complained about how three years as a personal shopper and an incomplete internship were all he had to show for his time spent in the city.

Blaine chimed in with, “Don't forget your degree.”

“Yet I'm unemployed,” Kurt whined. “I hate it.” He snaked one long, naked arm around Blaine's waist. “I need a job once this baby pops out.”

“You going to let me cut the umbilical cord first?”

Kurt sniffled loudly, grunting out an irritated chuckle. “I could start a new trend,” he said a little too seriously. Blaine shook his head.

“Ew.”

“Ew,” Kurt agreed. 

Blaine knew they could have ended the conversation there, but it wasn't an issue he wanted to leave unresolved. “You know you can't give birth on a Tuesday, then have a job interview on Wednesday... Right?” Noticing the stubborn set to Kurt's jaw, he realized he probably shouldn't have used the word can't.

Kurt clicked his tongue, already dismissive. “I'm due on a Sunday.”

“Kurt.”

“Blaine.”

“I'm not telling you what to do, I'm not. I'm just saying...” He shrugged, wanting to turn around and face Kurt. To hold him close. Honestly, it was distracting and rather odd to have a serious discussion with the wall. Blaine told him not to get ahead of himself, that they needed to put their baby first. “I'm sure Charles will thank you for your time and consideration. Think about it, our firstborn—”

Kurt clicked his tongue again. “And 'last-born.'”

“—Is five weeks away from—”

“If I may?” A finger poked into Blaine's backside. “It's more like five and a half weeks.” There was a good chance Kurt was counting down the days and hours, too.

“—Delivery. And we're getting married in how long?”

“Two hundred and five days.”

“Exactly, um. Exactly exact, actually. See? We've got a lot going on.” By the time they got adjusted with the baby, it'd be time to walk down the aisle. “Let's concentrate on our son for now, then we'll focus on our wedding. Eventually, Kurt, an amazing career opportunity that wholly deserves you will fall until your lap. I know it will, but... Not until the time is right.”

Kurt's arms tightened around him. “But we could use the extra money now.”

“You and I? Oh, we'll manage. You pull your weight around here in so many more ways than financially.” He twisted around in Kurt's arms and slipped down to kneel on the floor. He rested his elbows against where he'd been sitting. Kurt placed his hands on Blaine's shoulders. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Kurt swooped in to kiss him firmly on the mouth. “I snapped at you,” he realized with an apologetic wince. Blaine smiled, snagging one of Kurt's hands. He held it to his mouth, lips grazing along the back of Kurt's hand as he spoke.

“I can take it.”

“You shouldn't have to—” Kurt wrinkled up his nose and furrowed his brow when Blaine shushed him. 

“It's okay,” he said. “You still up for lunch?” To seal the deal, he added: “And coffee?”

“Always, my dear. Always up for... Ah, well...” He glanced down at his wet belly and then threw a pointed look at the slippery sides of the tub. He'd created his own personal Slip 'N Slide, whoops. What a mess. The hot, relaxing bubble bath had been so worth it, though. Kurt admitted, “I think I may need help getting up. And out.” He snapped his fingers. “Up and out.”

Blaine nodded eagerly, standing up to lean over the bathtub. Once Kurt had gotten safely out of the tub, he dropped down onto his knees again. 

“What are you in the mood for?” Blaine asked, looking up to lock eye contact with a beautifully flushed Kurt as he patted his legs dry with a towel. That was all it took for Kurt's soft cock to stir awake and perk up slowly for attention. “Oh, hello.” He had been referring to lunch, but this? This worked. Blaine's tongue slid out to moisten his lips thoroughly.

“You don't... Oh,” Kurt squeaked. Blaine's fingers encircled him, his mouth glistening as he kissed the underside of Kurt's cock. He dragged his tongue up Kurt's hot length, his lips parting again to suck gently at the tip. Kurt swayed on his feet. Without anything to hold on to, he tucked his hands under his belly. “Blaine,” he panted. “I don't ha—have the balance for this. I—I am literally going to fall over.”

“Bed?” 

Kurt gasped, “Please.” He closed his fingers around Blaine's hand, leading them into their bedroom. “Hey,” he snapped. “I thought you said you were going to make the bed.”

“Yell at me later.” Blaine laughed out Kurt's name, his impatient hands pushing gently on Kurt's hips. “I really want you right now.” Kurt spun around abruptly.

“You do?” he asked softly. Blaine seemed confused by Kurt's surprised tone. Kurt touched his hand along the side of Blaine's face as he kissed him longingly. He flashed Blaine a wicked smile. “How do you want me?”

Blaine moaned into Kurt's mouth, deepening the kiss. He unbuckled his pants while Kurt worked on pulling his shirt up and off. He had Kurt lie down on the bed, stretched out comfortably on his left side. 

“Condom,” Kurt grunted into his pillow as Blaine grabbed a bottle of lube out of their nightstand drawer.

“What? But?” They hadn't used any condoms in... Blaine's eyes skimmed over Kurt's heavily pregnant stomach. Months. 

“Sex is messy.” He didn't want to have to hop back into the bathtub once they finished. “And I'm clean, so yeah. Condom. Thanks.” He offered to roll the condom on for Blaine if he couldn't remember how.

Sex was always messy; afterward, Blaine's aim was off and his knot was too loose when he threw the condom into a trashcan. It landed on the rim, limp and slimy, and its contents dripped down the side of the small bin. He cleaned it up with a citrus-scented wet wipe.

“Lie with me for a while?” Kurt asked sleepily, curling up under a blanket. 

It was two minutes after twelve. They had missed their lunch reservations. Blaine grabbed his cellphone to let Rachel know through a text message that they were going to be at least another hour. He slipped into bed, sneaking under Kurt's coverlet.

“Love you,” he mumbled against Kurt's shoulder. “Sleep,” he urged him. “I need some belly time.”

“Ugh,” Kurt groaned. “Ugh, don't call it that.”

“Mm-hmm.” Blaine slid his hand up from Kurt's hip to grope the front of his warm, fat belly. He shuffled down lower. “What do you think Charles would like to hear today?”

Kurt closed his eyes. “Just keep it PG. He doesn't need to hear anymore songs about masturbation or rough sex.”

_You were the one singing Lady Gaga to him_ , Blaine wanted to argue. He chose to keep quiet, to continue pressing his fingers around Kurt's stomach. 

Kurt's eyes opened when Blaine suddenly sat up straighter. He frowned, stroking his hands up Kurt's sides. “Are you doing your kick counts?” His voice was small and somewhat hesitant.

Kurt lifted his head off the pillow and answered him with a defensive, “Yeah. Why?”

“Just... Just making sure,” Blaine said slowly. He bent down awkwardly to kiss Kurt's navel, his mouth lingering against the smooth skin. Kurt's hands moved over Blaine's, gripping them tight. 

“He moves almost... Almost all the time,” Kurt insisted. “Let him sleep, Blaine.”

“Just making sure,” Blaine repeated doubtfully. He hugged his arms around Kurt, his cheek resting against the lower curve of Kurt's stomach. “Love you,” he echoed through a whisper. 

[xoxo]


	8. Chapter 8

[xoxo]

“Work's, uh. Work's calling me again. I'll, um. I'll be right back,” Blaine muttered anxiously as he hurried out from the booth without making any eye contact with Kurt. Kurt bit into his second slice of pizza, his suspicious gaze falling down to Blaine's untouched Caesar salad. Blaine hadn't put his cellphone down for more than a minute since they'd gotten to the pizzeria. In twenty minutes, he had stepped away twice to “use the restroom” and he had just excused himself from their table for a second time to take another call from “work.” Kurt considered prying the cellphone out of Blaine's fingers. Instead, he settled for stealing a crouton off Blaine's plate. 

“So sorry about that, sweetheart.” Blaine slid back onto the narrow seat, his chin drawn down. He lifted his fork up only to stab its dull tines into crisp lettuce.

Kurt's jaw went slack mid-chew. He now thought about handing his troubled fiancé a napkin so he could wipe the guilty look off his face. _You're a terrible liar_ , Kurt wanted to share with him. He watched Blaine closely, wondering how much it would take to make him squirm. Wondering innocently, that was. He sunk his teeth into the pizza's thick crust, smiling around it. 

“I'm in the mood for hot, stale, salty popcorn.” Kurt reached for his glass of diet cola, his pointer finger curling around the bendy straw. “Are there any good movies in?”

Blaine sat up straighter, alert yet not very focused. “In?” he asked lamely. “In where?” Kurt refused to answer that “question” with anything but raised eyebrows. “Oh. Right.” Kurt rolled his eyes, although he was slightly charmed by the sheer adorableness of Blaine's toothy smile. “When did you want to go? I have this weekend off.”

“Mmm, no.” He shook his head without any apologetic grace. “We have more than enough time to catch something before you go in tonight,” he said. “Where'd I put my phone? I can check for movie times and see what's—”

“No,” Blaine said suddenly. “No, we don't. Sorry. The hospital needs me to come in a few hours earlier now, so I... We can't, not tonight. Sorry.” Blaine fidgeted with his silverware. “I can drop you off at the apartment when I go back to get, um.” He paused to sigh. “Changed?” The upward inflection may not have been intentional. 

Kurt brushed him off with, “That's okay. I don't need you to have a good time.” Blaine scoffed, his head snapping up. “Kidding!” Kurt chuckled, “Kind of.”

“Wouldn't you, um.” Blaine kneaded his fingers into the back of his neck. “Wouldn't you like to... To take a nap first?”

Kurt made a face, confused even more by Blaine's odd behavior. “I'm not a toddler,” he huffed.

“You're not, you're definitely not.” Blaine rubbed a hand over his face, sighing again. 

Kurt leaned forward on his elbows. “Blaine, what's going on?”

Blaine opened and shut his mouth. “I'm just...” He shrugged, flustered, and made a vague gesture. “Exhausted?” More misplaced upward inflection, Kurt noted. 

“Well, what time do you start now?” Kurt asked with warm eyes. He tilted his head to the side, smiling. “Maybe we can nap together?” Blaine pushed his plate out of the way to close his fingers around Kurt's hand.

“I'd like that.”

On their way home, they stopped at a street vendor for soft pretzels. Blaine handed one to Kurt in a crinkly wrapper, grinning gleefully. He kissed Kurt's cheek. 

“They're hot and salty,” he told him. “Not at all stale, but I think it'll hit the spot.”

Kurt thanked him, then looked around for a bench to park his ass on while he enjoyed his treat. He motioned for Blaine to follow him over to one. “Oof,” he complained breathlessly. “I feel like I've gotten... Wider. A lot more wide.” His hips and ribs ached more than they had in a while. “Yet he feels so far up,” Kurt gasped, “Like my lungs are cradling him.”

“Wish I could cradle him,” Blaine muttered crabbily. Uh-huh, he was jealous of Kurt's squished internal organs. He used his thumb to brush most of the salt flakes off his pretzel. A light chuckle from Kurt had him looking up.

“Don't get impatient on me now.” He patted Blaine's knee, his hand lingering there. “Soon, Blaine. Right? Soon.”

Blaine shrugged as he corrected Kurt with a sullen, “Soonish.” He gently pushed his shoulder into Kurt's, putting on an exaggerated pout for him. The ridiculous pout shifted into a worried frown as Kurt rubbed his chest. “You should be able to breath easily again once he drops.”

“I want something more definite than 'should.' I mean, I haven't breathed easily in...” Kurt winced, his face screwing up tighter as he pressed down harder on his chest. He let his head hang back. “Great, heartburn. Let's add that onto the list of things I... Wow. I complain a lot, don't I?”

Blaine stuffed a piece of the pretzel into his mouth, glancing sideways. “I hardly notice,” he mumbled. 

Kurt slid in closer to Blaine, linking their arms together. He leaned against him and, despite his back not being fond of the awkward slump, settled his weary head on Blaine's shoulder. “You're vibrating,” he said through a yawn he couldn't stifle. 

“I always vibrate when I'm around you,” Blaine purred without missing a beat. He laughed, knowing Kurt was giving him quite a look, and nuzzled his cheek into the top of Kurt's head. Kurt immediately flailed away to fix his hair. 

“Right,” he said snappishly. He stood up, tugging down on his sweater where it'd ridden up his side. Kurt swatted at Blaine's hand for trying to push it back up. “I need coffee, now. You want anything?”

Blaine's face broke into a wide, goofy grin. “A baby,” he demanded. 

“The shipping and handling on that is still being processed. Anything else?” Blaine shook his head, his mouth full of half-chewed pretzel. 

When Kurt returned from the beloved coffee kiosk, already sipping down his non-fat mocha, Blaine seemed a lot less on edge than he had during lunch. He had already finished off his own pretzel and most of Kurt's. Blaine hopped off the bench and onto his feet, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers.

“Ready?” He asked enthusiastically , “To go home? Ready?”

Kurt laughed, hesitant and a little surprised. “I guess. Are you okay?”

“Me?” Blaine pinched the lapels on Kurt's snug jacket. “Honey, I'm fantastic. How about you?”

“You didn't...” Kurt tilted his hips forward to purposely push his stomach into Blaine, whose hands instantly dropped down to lightly grip at the sides of Kurt's belly. “You didn't accept any 'candy' from strangers while I was away, did you?” 

Blaine considered Kurt's question. “Well, no. But a gentlemen did offer to show me all the cute puppies he had in the back of his van. Cute, free puppies.” He glanced off to the side again. “Speaking of puppies...”

Nuh-uh. “I am not dealing with a puppy and a newborn at the same time, no. Try again later.” Much, much later. 

“I keep forgetting 'Magic 8 Ball' is your middle name,” Blaine stated. His smile hadn't faded one bit.

Kurt scoffed, “I haven't forgotten yours.” He twirled around and stepped away so Blaine's hands would slip off his body. 

“Yeah? What it is? Kurt, what's my 'middle name'?” Kurt brought his unlidded coffee cup up to his smirking lips as he took a few backward steps. He then turned his back to Blaine and quickened his pace. Blaine took off after him. “Kurt, come on. Play along!” 

Once they got back to their apartment, Blaine couldn't stop giggling. He climbed up the stairs ahead of Kurt, stopping short in front of the door to spin around and kiss him.

“I love you,” he mumbled hotly against Kurt's mouth. Kurt pressed his lips together, blinking rapidly as a heavy warmth pooled in his cheeks; he honestly felt like he'd gone a little weak in the knees. Blaine pulled away, jingling keys dangling from his curled fingers to unlock the front door. He swung it wide open with one hard shove. Kurt peered in warily, his eyes widening at what he found waiting for him (for them) in the tiny living room of their tiny apartment. Blaine tapped Kurt's foot with his own. “Go on,” he said softly. “It's okay.”

“Surprise,” Rachel shouted happily. She jumped out from the small crowd of cheering family members and dear friends.

'Okay' was definitely subjective. That damned “baby blue” color was splashed everywhere. Not an exaggeration; an overwhelmed Kurt stumbled back into Blaine's arms. There were baby blue streamers spiraling down from the ceiling and troops of baby blue balloons taped down to many, many different surfaces. Party hats, banners, napkins, plates, confetti, Solo cups... All of it, baby blue. It wasn't so much a “splash of color” as it was an “explosion of color.” Rachel (dressed from head to toe in freakin' baby blue) charged at him, holding out an over-sized baby blue t-shirt that read 'carrying precious cargo' in a curvy silver print. 

Blaine's mom popped up in front of Rachel and cut her off, eager to show them the large cross-stitch she had made for her grandson's nursery. It read, “Cha-Cha-Charlie!” and Kurt was instantly mesmerized by it, his fingers tracing and then retracing over the bright letters. Julie pinched her son's cheek, sharing a thrilled smile with him. 

A voice neither Kurt nor Blaine had heard personally in over a year spoke up over Rachel's demand (or, as she put it, “simple instructions”) for Kurt to change into the shirt she was waving around. “Boo! Look at you, oh my.”

Kurt's head snapped up. “Mercedes?” He squealed, clapping his hands together before cupping them over his mouth. “Oh, my god!” Behind Mercedes, his dad and Carole were drinking fruit punch (except not. Carole was sipping on the fruit-filled punch. Burt was stuffing cheese cubes into his mouth). While they still kept in touch with each other over Facebook, he and Mercedes had slowly drifted apart over the handful of years since high school graduation. Kurt hadn't expected to see Burt and Carole again until the baby was born. “I can't, I can't believe you're all here.”

Burt winked at him. “We were in the area,” he said. Carole smiled against the rim of of her cup.

“Sorry about the mess,” Tina said to Blaine. “We didn't have as much time to set up as we thought we would.” Kurt heard Blaine chuckle out an apology. “By the way,” she growled in a hushed tone, “Rachel totally took over everything.”

Mercedes tugged gently on Kurt's elbow to pull him into a hug. “How you doin'? No, really, 'cause I heard about the... You know. Bar fight. Did they ever catch the jerk?”

Kurt shook his head, growing solemn and tense. The police hadn't been able to get a positive ID on the man who assaulted him. Kurt hated thinking about it, never mind talking about it. Although, mostly, that was on Blaine's behalf. He couldn't understand why Blaine blamed himself for the incident. He shook his head again, unconsciously folding his hands over his stomach.

“Hey, bro!” Finn sneaked up behind Kurt to carefully place a sparkly party hat on top of his well-coiffed noggin. He bent down toward Blaine, muttering out of the side of his mouth. “Steer the momma away from the blue punch bowl. Puck spiked it before he left to pick up the—”

“What?” Rachel shrieked as Kurt snapped viciously at Finn for, once again, referring to him as “the m-word.”

Blaine quickly stepped around Finn to rub Kurt's shoulder. “Thanks for that, Finn.”

Kurt shooed Blaine away after he tried to help him out of his jacket. He sat down with Mercedes and Tina on the couch while Rachel inspected the other punch bowl and a tray of brownies. “Yes?” Kurt said to Mercedes, who couldn't seem to look away from his tummy. He tried to sound amused. 

“It's crazy. You're going to be a daddy,” she sighed. “Dang, I can't even imagine having a baby right now. I barely have enough time for a relationship, never mind... That. How does it feel?”

“Terrifying,” Kurt replied lightly. 

“No, I mean.” She shrugged. “What's it like?”

“Terrifying,” he repeatedly blandly. “The doctor now thinks I'll detonate earlier than my due date.” By the end of next week, Charles would be considered 'full-term.' As much as he hated being pregnant, Kurt wasn't about to rush his son. He'd rather him grow stronger by staying put until week 40. 

Mercedes had a look on her face that begged him to give birth now, like right now, so she wouldn't feel obligated to fly back in a month to see the baby. “That's great!”

Kurt bit his bottom lip, glancing over to where Blaine was ducking his head as he shared something with a laughing Burt. “Terrifying,” he corrected. 

“You sound so worried.” Tina tutted, resting her warm hand over Kurt's. “Don't. Once little Charles is finally in your arms, you're going to feel like... Like a completed puzzle. You, Blaine, and Charlie... You're all so—so precious.”

“Is she crying again?” Mercedes asked, digging around in her purse for a tissue. 

Kurt noticed Blaine excusing himself away from Burt to make a beeline for the front door before he heard anyone knock at it. He frowned, Rachel obstructing his view as Blaine opened the door. She held out her hands, palms up and fingers spayed. Kurt stared at her blankly. 

“I read that games are the most memorable part of a baby shower,” she gushed. “I picked out so many fun prizes! Everyone, we going to have a blast.” Rachel fished a folded baby blue sheet of paper out of her pocket. “Okay, I selected thirty-six—” (At this point, Burt poured himself some punch out of the blue bowl. Carole huffed at him, but also held out her cup for a refill).

“Quinn?” Kurt cocked his head to the side, smiling politely at the guest Blaine had welcomed in. “Hi!” He heard a ladle clatter to the floor behind him. 

“Don't get up,” she told him. “I'll come to you.” Quinn passed off a light green gift bag with yellow tissue poking out of the top and a small black case to Blaine. 

“Music to my ears,” Kurt said. He couldn't help but to watch Rachel's face for any kind of reaction. He had no idea if Rachel knew about Quinn and Finn. 

Quinn bent down to give Kurt a quick hug and his stomach a little pat. “I'm sorry I'm late. I had to run back to my office for Blaine.” 

“Why?” Kurt asked slowly. He caught sight of Blaine's backside as he creeped out of the living room. “Don't you dare, Anderson.”

Rachel put her hands on her hips, annoyed and impatient. “Okay,” she announced tightly. “I'm going to go get the yarn and a few pairs of scissors so we can all have turns guessing how much yarn it'd take to fit around Kurt's baby bump.”

Kurt inhaled deeply through his nose, then snuffled out as if he'd just been roused from a deep sleep. “Would it be weird if I left?”

“And then,” Rachel continued excitedly, “We'll play our first round of 'baby bingo.'”

“Yes,” Tina hissed under her breath to Kurt. “I want to see you claw off Rachel's face when she tries to go near you with yarn.”

“That kind of makes me wish we'd brought popcorn,” Mike admitted. Kurt hadn't noticed him standing behind the couch, leaning down to pet his fingers through Tina's highlighted tresses.

Quinn adjusted her ponytail. “I went to a baby shower last year where they played their own version of 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey,'” she said. “We were still blindfolded, but had to use a cutout of a baby to—” She mimicked taping 'a cutout of a baby' to Kurt's stomach. 

“Nuh-uh,” Kurt snapped. “No way.”

Mercedes whistled. “She's gon' get body-slammed.”

Kurt heaved a sigh, needing to state he was about to use the bathroom so his friends would know to back away and give him enough room to get off the couch. He hoped no one would comment on his obvious waddle.

“Isn't there a window in your bathroom?” Tina asked, her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

Kurt hands framed his pregnant belly. “I'm flattered you think I can climb out through a window with this,” he admitted. 

On his way to the bathroom, Blaine poked his head out from their bedroom and waved him in. Blaine shut the door behind them, kissing Kurt softly as he stroked his thumbs down his cheeks.

“Okay! Lie down on the bed,” Blaine asked tersely. “Unbutton your pants. You don't have to take them off, though.”

Unsurprisingly, Kurt only stared at him. Confusion flickered across Blaine's face before he grinned easily, turning away to pick something off his dresser. Kurt cocked his head to the side, curious. 

Blaine held up a familiar medical instrument. “It's a doppler,” he said a little nervously. “A doppler fetal monitor to, you know, um. Hear his heartbeat. Can we, please?”

Kurt shrunk back, paling considerably under the dim light. “Is there something wrong with the baby?” He asked tearfully. 

“Oh, god. Kurt, no. I'm sure he's...” Kurt covered a trembling hand over his gaping mouth. Blaine apologized profusely, sounding guilty. “I'm a worried, paranoid father-to-be. I just, I need to know he's okay in there. I can't see him, I can't feel him, and I... I'm restless.” He shook his head, looking ready to cry himself. “I feel so useless.”

“You are far from 'useless,' Blaine.” He wasn't about to stop Blaine from listening to their son's heartbeat, even if their next doctor appointment was only two days away. He wasn't about to make him wait. Kurt walked over to their bed, grunting as he laid out on his back. He lifted up the frayed hem of his sweater to expose a pale strip of skin (that he liked to pretend wasn't marred with stretch marks). Kurt reached out for him. “Come here,” he said. “Give me your hand.”

The old bed frame groaned under Blaine's weight after he'd hopped onto the firm mattress to rest beside Kurt, his legs crisscrossed. He uncapped a bottle of ultrasound gel. Kurt pushed his eager wrist away, tilting his hips up enough for him to fold down the elastic panel connected to the waistline on his jeans. 

“Nope. I said give me your hand.” He positioned and then repositioned Blaine's hand under his stomach. “Right...” Kurt moved Blaine's hand again. “About...” One more time, he promised. “Here. Feel that?”

“I don't... Yeah,” he gasped. “Yeah, I do. Hey, baby.” Blaine sighed sweetly, “Charles. There you are.”

“We're almost there, Blaine. Don't...” Kurt pushed up on his elbows. He slid his tongue across his bottom lip. “You're not 'useless' to us, okay?”

Blaine nodded, picking up the gel. “Is it okay if I still...?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go for it.”

Kurt refused to have any doubts about Charles' heartbeat being anything but strong and healthy. He paid more attention to Blaine, smiling as he visibly relaxed once they'd heard the comforting sound of their unborn child's heart beating. It was a relief for him to see a lot of Blaine's anxiety melt away.

“Sorry to interrupt you two, but there are a dozen people in our living room who are going to think I've given birth in a toilet if I don't get back out there soon.” He started to ask for a tissue to clean up the mess on his belly, but stopped to brush his thumb along Blaine's temple. “You okay now?” He squeaked through a sudden pant, “'Cause I gotta sit up. Kid's crushing my bladder.”

“I am, I really am. Thank you, Kurt.” He pecked a kiss to the upturned corner of Kurt's mouth. “You go do what you've got to do, I'll go...”

Kurt scowled. “Let her know if I see any yarn, I will—”

Blaine tried not to laugh. “No one's going to rope any yarn around you.” He rested his hands on Kurt's belly. 

“You promise?” 

Blaine's joyful smile stretched into a full-blown grin. “I promise.” He needed one more kiss before he'd head out to talk Rachel into toning down the baby shower games. He shuffled around Kurt's stomach to hug him. “Thank you.”

Kurt hurried into the bathroom, his feet moving too quickly under him. He stumbled against the door as he pushed it open, nearly crashing to the floor. Whoops, no. No, no wait. Let's amend that, please. 'Nearly crashing...' into Finn and Rachel, who'd obviously been making out (with each other). They had both reached out in a panic to steady him. 

“Dude, are you drunk?” Finn asked, gawking at him.

“Am I what? Are you, oh!” Kurt shook their hands off his arms. “Get out of my bathroom, _dude_.”

Rachel ran her fingers through the ends of her hair. “Kurt, we—we were just?” She looked up at Finn for an answer.

“You too, lady. Out. I am not dealing with this.” Kurt grabbed a bottle of air freshener off a shelf above the toilet, spraying it into the air above their heads. “I'm out of cares to give.”

Finn wrinkled his nose up. He scratched the back of his head, looking hesitantly from Rachel to Kurt. “Maybe we should...”

“No.” Kurt resisted from stomping his feet. “Finn! Rachel! I'm not asking again.”

“Wow, bro. Listen to you. Soundin' like a parent already, nice.” Finn gave his expectant step-brother two thumbs up.

Kurt's grip around the metal canister in his hand tightened. 

Finn whistled. “Okay, cool down. We're leaving, but. Um.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think we could keep this between us? Me and Rachel, we're. Uh, we're still figuring things out.”

Kurt had some (what a lie, he had a lot of) questions, sure. He also had a six pound fetus camped out on his bladder, though. “Yes,” he snapped. “Fine. Whatever.” He waved his fingers. “Bye.”

Finn thanked him in a sincere, grateful way that surprised Kurt enough to shut him up. Finn bent down to kiss Rachel's forehead, his smile somewhat sad. He hastily exited the bathroom without another word to either of them. Rachel, however, continued to stand next to Kurt. She beamed, blowing him and then his belly a kiss. 

“Bye,” he parroted firmly.

She pouted. “You're not even going to ask?”

“You're not even going to leave?” Kurt shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his arms folded over his chest. “Did you know pregnancy can really force the shame out of a person?” That said, he turned around to face the toilet and started to pull down his pants.

Rachel let out a high-pitched gasp. Kurt didn't flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut.

[xoxo]

Blaine tugged his boxing gloves off, letting them fall to the floor as he reached into his locker to pull out his cellphone. He squinted his eyes, the fine lines around his mouth deepening. No new text or voice mail messages. He grabbed a hand towel to wipe the sweat off his face, the collar of his white tank top soaked from perspiration. The thin material clung to his skin.

“Worked off some frustration, did you?”

Blaine turned around, rubbing the cloth down his damp neck. “Sebastian,” he said dully. “Hi, um. I guess?” Both he and Kurt were having trouble sleeping during the final weeks of the pregnancy. For Kurt, it was mostly physical; he either couldn't get comfortable for too long or the baby would keep him up. For Blaine, however, it was mostly... Mental, he guessed. He blamed his stupid brain for the scary “what if?” thoughts and nightmares. His jaw popped as he yawned. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, 'm tired. Really, insanely tired.”

“I bet,” Sebastian said with a smirk. “I've got a pretty huge...” He winked and Blaine frowned, lowering the towel. “Bed if you need some place else to 'sleep.'”

“I don't,” he insisted sharply. Blaine clenched his jaw, exasperated. “Have I done something to lead you on? Because I'm... I'm not... I'm with Kurt.” He heard Santana's voice in his head, mocking him. _He wants your dick so bad, it's pathetic_. “But you know that,” he said slowly. “You know I'm not interested or available.” 

Sebastian's smile was full of condescension. “You're half right,” he said.

“You're all wrong. My relationship with Kurt, it's healthy and strong. We're engaged, our little boy's about to make his big entrance into the world.” He didn't need anything or anyone else. Blaine had exactly what he wanted. 

Sebastian had rolled his eyes at Blaine's proud mention of his unborn child. “I get it. Kurt the one you want to marry, have an off-putting bunch of tiny gaybies with, but me? I'm the one you want to—”

“I don't,” Blaine repeated irritably. It disgusted him, Sebastian's persistence. He looked down as his cellphone vibrated in his hand. He'd gotten two text messages from Kurt. “I don't want—”

From Kurt: _Hey, are you busy right now?_  
From Kurt: _j/w_

He heard Sebastian start up again now that he'd paused; Blaine held his pointer finger up. He typed back to Kurt, 'Why?' He would've asked him if something was wrong and what he could do for him, but the “j/w” was tacked on too nonchalantly for it not to be suspicious.

“Let me show you what you're missing out on, Bl—”

“Shh.” Blaine waggled his finger. Rachel's name and a picture of her wailing into a bedazzled microphone popped up on his phone, alerting him (warning him?) of an incoming call. He answered with a hesitant, “Rachel?”

There was a burst of static and background noise from Rachel's end, then: “Should I call an ambulance?” she demanded.

“'Call an ambulance'? For what?” Blaine asked, hearing his own voice crack. He twisted around, turning his back to Sebastian. “Rachel, what's—?”

“Kurt! His water broke,” she said in a tone that suggested he should have already known this. 

“What? When? Now?” He fumbled for his wallet and car keys, not caring about a shower or changing out of his gym clothes. “Is he okay? Is, is he having con—contractions? Can I talk to him? Rachel, put him on the phone.”

Kurt sounded eerily calm as he asked, “Can you pick me up?”

“Honey,” Blaine gasped. He brushed past Sebastian, his locker door left wide open. He blinked away sudden blurriness, not realizing he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks. “It's time?”

“Um, maybe. Can you pick me up?”

Oh, no. Kurt must have been in shock. “'Maybe'? Kurt, your water broke.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Rachel, stop that.” Kurt sighed roughly into the phone. “How long?”

“I'll, um. Wow.” Blaine exhaled slowly, his mind racing faster than his pulse. He didn't hear the gym employee yell at him for running through the lobby. “I'll be right there, okay? I'll be right there.” He choked on nervous laughter. “Oh, my god. Kurt.”

“Just get here now,” Kurt grumbled. “Please.”

Blaine pushed through the red-lit exit door, hoping an alarm wouldn't go off. It was the quickest way to the parking lot. “Hey, what's wrong?” He had caught the hint of sadness in Kurt's voice. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, just... Drive safely, okay?”

[xoxo]

With traffic, it'd taken Blaine almost a half hour (and that wasn't including the time it had taken for him to find nearby parking) to drive to a café he could have jogged to in ten minutes. He jay-walked across the busy street, easily spotting Rachel in a bright yellow beret. She was leaning over the round table where Kurt sat, his face and neck tinged pink. Blaine sank to his knees beside him, Kurt's name rolling off his tongue over and over again.

Rachel talked over him, her tone sharp and dramatic. “Your fiancé,” she informed him, “is being very stubborn.”

Although he certainly heard her, Blaine couldn't actually listen to a word she said. He felt along the warm sides of Kurt's large belly, the slight tremor in his hands barely noticed. “How's it going in there?” he asked as Kurt scoffed, his head snapping up. 

“Your play opens in one week, Rachel.” Kurt patted his fingers over one of Blaine's wrists. Blaine furrowed his forehead, his eyes trailing down to the wet pavement between Kurt's feet. Two half-melted ice cubes and a lemon wedge seemed a little (bit of a lot) out of place.

“Wh—?”

Kurt cupped his palm over Blaine's mouth. He hadn't glimpsed away from Rachel for a second. “You can't miss a rehearsal for this.” 

Now, it was Rachel's turn to scoff. Hers seemed to be lacking, though. Kurt, he—he wasn't wrong. She was, quite naturally, The Star of the play; Rachel knew she couldn't let all of her honored cast members and grateful crew down by skipping out on them. Besides, her understudy was totally gunning for her to have a freak accident or something so she could step into the spotlight. Um, not happening! “Kurt,” Rachel whined. She didn't sound too sure as she insisted, “I should be there.”

Blaine's heart continued to beat painfully in his chest. Lips pursed in confusion, he gently lifted Kurt's hand off his mouth. “Hi, do you remember why I'm here?”

Kurt finally lowered his gaze, his freckled cheeks somehow gaining more color. “Hi,” he said with a sweet and almost guilty smile. “The baby nudges me whenever he hears your voice for the first time in a while. It's kind of rude,” Kurt admitted. “But also kind of adorable, too.” He then rolled his eyes as he lifted his chin up to look back at Rachel. He frowned, abruptly rocking forward. “W—who knows how long it'll take, you might be finished for the night before he—he...”

“Kurt?” Blaine's hands flew up from prodding Kurt's stomach to clutch his shoulders.

“One of us is about to be late,” Kurt said to Rachel through gritted teeth. He lightened his tone. “Not me, obviously.”

Blaine held in a cry of frustration. He wanted to throw Kurt over his shoulder and get him to a hospital, stat. He threw in a weak, “Obviously.”

“Okay,” Rachel said quickly. She grabbed her clutch off the table, nearly knocking over an empty glass. “Okay, okay. Promise you'll keep me updated, please?”

“Yes, of course. I'm sure I'll find plenty of time to text you in-between contractions,” Kurt snapped harshly. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. “Sorry, I'm...”

Blaine pecked a kiss to Kurt's warm brow. “Don't,” he whispered against soft skin. He stood up, offering both of his upturned hands to Kurt. “Let's get you to the car, alright?”

Rachel stared at Kurt, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I'll call Finn,” she decided. “I'm sure—”

Kurt interrupted her with, “Don't.” He asked her not to call anyone. “Leave that to us. We'll, we'll let everyone know when the time gets closer.” He flicked his fingers at her. “Rachel, just go to rehearsal.”

She wiped at her eyes. “Okay, I'm going... I'm going to hug you.”

Blaine waited with more patience than he thought possible for Rachel to leave before crossing his arms over his chest and asking Kurt, “What's going on?”

“Not now,” Kurt grumbled. “Blaine, don't look at me like that. Not when you're dressed like that. You know better.” He pouted, glancing down at his stomach. “This chair doesn't have any arms for me to push myself up.” The frown on Blaine's face eased away as Kurt's eyes grew moist. “You're not being very supportive right now!”

“You're... You're not... D—did you fake...?” Blaine choked out Kurt's name, scolding him. “I thought... Oh, my god. You're... You... Oh, my god.”

Kurt winced, wetting his lips. “I tried to give you a heads up.” He shrugged. “I didn't think she'd—”

“I can't believe you'd... You'd do that just to—” Blaine threw his arms out, flabbergasted. Some of his anger was numbed by shock. He gaped at Kurt, waiting for an explanation. 

“I do had to, I couldn't... Can we talk about this... Like, not here? Please?” Kurt braced his feet against the ground, reaching out to grab onto the edge of the table. Blaine stopped him. 

“No, take my hand. The table's too wobbly, I don't want you to fall.” 

Once Kurt was on his feet, he apologized while fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan. 

Blaine took an unsteady breath. “Come on, Kurt.”

[xoxo]

Kurt slid his thumb along the selvage of his kilt, his eyes glued to the profile of Blaine's face as he drove them home. He tightened his jaw through another Braxton Hicks contraction; they'd started up during Rachel's unwarranted phone call to Blaine. He rubbed his hands over his hard belly, the discomfort of spasming muscles stirring up nausea. The hot air blowing out from the vents on the passenger side of the dashboard only aggravated his stomach more. He pressed his lips together.

“Could you pull over, please?” Kurt covered a hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling as he gagged against his palm. “Blaine,” he snapped while unbuckling his seat belt. “Pull over!”

Once he was done throwing the BLT sandwich and iced mocha coffee he'd had for lunch up, Blaine offered Kurt a bottle of water and a stick of peppermint gum. Kurt used the lukewarm water to rinse his mouth out. He grimaced, spitting onto the pavement. 

“Better?” Blaine had kept a steady grip on Kurt while he'd been leaning out of the car to vomit (Kurt assumed Blaine had expected him to topple out and roll down the street or something). He pushed his hand up and around Kurt's hip to fondle the front of his wide stomach through his ribbed sweater. “How are you going to explain to Rachel how your 'water broke' and yet...” Blaine suctioned his tongue off the roof of his mouth, tsking. “No baby?”

Kurt swallowed a mouthful of water. “But there is a baby,” he said defensively. “I faked labor, not pregnancy.” He muttered a soft “ow” as said baby stretched around inside of him. “You're not too mad, right? Think of it as a practice run.” Blaine looked away to glare out the window. Kurt's voice went shrill as he stuttered out an apology. “I panicked, Blaine. I panicked and had an idea, so I ran with it.”

“I think you 'spilled' the idea more than you 'ran with it.'” Blaine flashed him a small, strained smile. “Can we get to the 'why' now, please? I need to know, like, why you had to pretend to be in labor just to get away from Rachel. Come on, she had to have said or done something.” He teased, “Did she bring out the yarn again?” 

Kurt didn't smile. “She told me... She told me what happened, what lead to her and Finn's separation.” He almost forgot to unwrap the gum before he popped it into his mouth. “By the way, they tore up the divorce papers and are 'officially' back together.”

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. “Thank goodness,” he gasped. “I can finally sleep at night knowing that those two—” He sang out the last few words, “Are going to make it after all.”

Kurt still wouldn't smile. He blanched, looking as if he were about to hurl again. “I don't know,” he admitted nervously. “I just, I couldn't hear her go on for another freakin' minute about how she wanted us to be... Ugh.” He rolled his eyes, choking back a whimper. “'Pregnant together.'”

“'Us' as in you and her? Oh,” Blaine hummed noncommittally. “I don't know if she can...” He skimmed the back of his fingers across Kurt's belly. “Catch up to you right now.” 

“Oh, no. No, no.” Kurt snapped his gum and ground his teeth. “She has pretty much taken it upon herself to plan our next pregnancy for us.” 

“Wow, that's... It's kind of...”

“Rachel's working on the rough draft of a timeline, Blaine. You and Finn will have deadlines to meet.” He'd caught a glimpse of three Excel spreadsheets. Kurt had only dumped a glass of water into his lap after her mention of a nearly-completed PowerPoint presentation. 

Blaine's head fell back. He frowned. “Creepy.”

“We've got a few years before we'll need to skip across the pond and, you know, change our identities.” Kurt took his cellphone out to tap a reminder into it for them to get started on the paperwork for their passports. 

Blaine turned the car's engine over, a sour look on his face as if he'd imagined Rachel popping out from under their bed with a calendar and stopwatch. “I don't get why she's being so intense about it.”

Kurt attempted to feign indifference by shrugging his shoulders. “I guess it's her way of proving to Finn that she's serious about giving him a baby this time.”

Blaine huffed out an uneasy scoff. “Kurt, a—” He whispered, “Miscarriage.” His forehead had furrowed a little. “It's not, it, uh. It isn't anyone's—”

“Yeah, 'bout that?” Kurt clenched his teeth out of annoyance as his unborn son kicked up an unnecessary storm. He mentally admonished the little one to knock it off; 'Three weeks and you're out, kid.' “There wasn't a, um. A miscarriage.” He informed Blaine dryly of Rachel's 'impulsive' abortion, his mouth pinched to the side. “She said she wasn't ready to make room in her life for a baby and tried to talk to Finn about it, but he jumped the gun on her and announced it 'to the world.' So, yeah. She lied to him. And, like, everyone else. Indirectly, kind of.” The first and, now, only he'd even heard her utter the word 'miscarriage' had been when she told him she never had one.

Blaine pushed his lips out in a silent whistle, speechless.

Rachel had hesitantly revealed everything to Kurt, explaining her anger at Finn for unknowingly trying to corner her into a pregnancy. He'd been oblivious to her uncertainty, blinded by his excitement. She had apologized to Kurt, visibly shaken with guilt; Rachel had known Kurt wouldn't judge her for her choice, but the deceit was another story. He hadn't know what to say, though—what she'd wanted (needed) to hear from him. She had stared at him intently, obviously waiting patiently for a specific answer he couldn't think of. 

“I'm a shitty friend,” Kurt said as a stunned Blaine babbled about how he should have been able to piece the truth together with everything Finn had told him. Although he'd heard him, he realized he hadn't actually listened. Blaine couldn't believe it'd gone over his head like that. He guessed they weren't used to Rachel and Finn keeping them out of their problems. 

“Don't say that.”

“Why not? It's true. I should have been there for her. She needed someone. Rachel distanced herself from Finn, from all her friends, and I didn't even notice!” Even pre-pregnancy, he had been absorbed with finishing school and getting picked for the internship. Most of his friendships had taken a beating.

Blaine shook his head. “We've all got our own stuff going on, Kurt. You can't be expected to—”

“Expected to, what? Be a friend? This has been going on for almost two years. Two years, Blaine.” She'd kept a lot bottled up for too long. Kurt was concerned about her (and her new obsession with them coordinating pregnancies down the line didn't ease any of those worries). “This is too much at once. I, I'm...” He rubbed his forehead. “I have a headache.”

“But I think we need to talk about—”

Kurt sounded defeated as he repeated, “I have a headache.” He hurt everywhere, inside and out. He was emotionally and physically exhausted; every muscle in his body felt pulled tight, especially his heart. He was also ungodly hormonal. All Kurt wanted was Chinese take-out, a warm bed, and Blaine's quiet company. “Please, Blaine?”

Too many emotions were playing tug-a-war in his head. He thought about Rachel's negative comments about his pregnancy in the beginning, how she didn't think he had made the right choice, the choice he'd wanted. 

“I did,” he murmured to himself. Kurt closed his eyes, focusing on the skittish movement inside of his freakish womb.

“What's that?”

“Hmm?” Kurt slumped back, yawning as he peeked an eye open. “I love you.” He stopped massaging his fingertips into his throbbing temples. “All of you.” He added a smug and sure, “I love us.”

Blaine laughed loudly, brushing off his own confusion. He knew he wouldn't get anything else out of Kurt today. “Not that I don't totally agree, but you sound a little drunk.” 

Kurt made another “hmm?” nose. He let his head roll back, his shoulders twitching when Blaine's hand slid under his kilt to pat his knee. 

“You okay?”

“I'm... Many, many things. Oh, can you make a turn at the light? 'Cause hungry is one of those things. Mm-hmm, and...” He drew out a sigh. “At the moment, it's the easiest one to take care of.”

Blaine had to ask, “And which is the hardest?”

Kurt chuckled, wholly unamused. “Unless this baby painlessly teleports himself out of my abused body, I think we both know the answer to your stupid question.” He pouted miserably, hissing out a tired groan as he brought his hands up from his lap to rub along the sides of his round belly. “When did I get so pregnant? Remember when, like, you couldn't even tell? I miss that.”

“It'll take a while, but you know what I'm waiting to hear? 'Remember when I was pregnant? I miss that.'”

“Bite your tongue! Not even funny, Blaine.” Nope, not one bit. Honestly, Rachel was on her own. Kurt was not going to let anyone tell him what to do and/or when to do it with his body, nuh-uh. Once Charles was out of him, Kurt was throwing up a permanent 'NO VACANCY' sign. “Oh, god. What am I going to tell Rachel?” 'Hi, I faked labor because you were being more annoying and batshit crazy than usual.' Kurt frowned, uneasy as he felt a slight twinge of guilt. 

“Don't worry about it. I'll talk to her. I mean, you won't like what I'm going to tell her, but I'll talk to her for you.”

Kurt expected that much, to not agree with the cover story they would have to come up with. Part of him didn't want to know what Blaine was going to say. He touched the damp spot on the front of his kilt. He knew he was soaked down through to his leggings, but he had no idea what it 'looked' like with his big ol' stomach blocking most of the view. Well, he had an idea. It didn't look good, you know? “When we get married, you're going to be my favorite husband.”

Blaine snorted. “We'll see if you still feel the same way after Rachel hears about your 'accident.'” He braked for a red light, his fingers drumming rapidly against the steering wheel. Kurt was quiet. “You're the one who faked your water breaking, Kurt.”

“Did the last three minutes not take place? I had to! I needed to get her off my back. She was about to arrange a marriage between our future non-existent children, Blaine.” He sniffed, “I did what I thought was best for them. And me, in that moment.”

“And how do you feel about your actions now?” Blaine asked in a tone that made Kurt feel like he was about to get a lecture from Full House's Danny Tanner. He waited for the Serious Music to start playing in the background. 

“Wet, mostly.” His poor kilt.

“And?” Blaine pressed, giving him a sideways glance.

Kurt held onto a breath. “I'm almost nine freakin' months pregnant. Back off a little, sweetie. Oh, and also? Please try to look a little less disappointed. I'm sorry.” He wanted to lean in for a reassuring kiss. Kurt's back cackled at him, definitely not up for it. It didn't help that there wasn't one cooperative muscle left in his body. They'd all given up on him weeks ago. He had no idea how he managed to get around without ending up on the floor. 

Blaine complained about how they were stuck in the worst waiting game ever. “I want my baby,” he grumbled.

“If I could hand you our son right now, I would, but I can't. Until then, make another right at the next light.” If he could, Kurt would switch out Blaine's barren womb with his own. His back, despite him staying stay as still as possible, throbbed achingly. Kurt tried not to cry, wishing he _had_ gone into labor. Enough was enough, he was waving the white flag. Kurt cringed, glancing away from his reflection in the window. “I look like a hot mess.”

“Uh, no.” The corner of Blaine's upper lip curled up. “You look beautiful,” he uttered through an exasperated scoff. 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I look like I wet myself.”

“Accidents happen.” Whoa, there was a loaded statement. Blaine paused, staring straight ahead with a loving smile on his face. “You're beautiful, Kurt. Take away the hair product, the designer clothes, and you know what? Underneath it all, you're still just as beautiful.” Like it or not, Blaine would never not find him attractive. 

“Are you telling me I'm really lovely...” Although Blaine wasn't watching him, Kurt batted his eyelashes playfully. “Underneath my gut?”

“You can't take my compliment for what it's worth, can you?”

“Mm-hmm, wait 'til...” He trailed off, a flash of red catching his eye as he shifted from one side to the other and clasped his hands under his belly. “'Til?” He twisted around to see what was in the backseat, hissing through the abrupt movement. “When... When did you install that?” he asked in an awed voice. 

Blaine glanced up into the rear-view mirror to smile proudly at the infant car seat he knew was behind them. “Oh, um. Your dad helped. Like, what, last weekend? Yeah, Wes got it for us.” He was excited to finally have had the chance to put something together, even if it hadn't been by himself. Kurt hogged most of the “some assembly required” jobs. “I think I drove in a circle. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Home,” Kurt said quickly. “Let's go home. We'll order in.” He wanted to get his feet up. He hoped he would be able to get his swollen legs out of the knee-high boots he had foolishly crammed them into. Kurt turned around once more to gawk at the car seat, easily picturing their beautiful baby boy strapped into it. He sighed out his fiancé's name. 

“Hey, there's a baggie of Kleenex in the glove compartment,” Blaine reminded him. He had gotten used to Kurt bursting into joyful tears every time they'd added something new to the nursery. From the changing table to a stuffed animal, those tear ducts got a mighty workout. 

Kurt laughed bubbly, thanking him. He rubbed at his wet eyes. “It—it looks nice.” Nice shmice! It looked perfect.

Blaine shared a smile with him. 

[xoxo]


	9. Chapter 9

[xoxo]

From Finn: _ok!_  
From Finn: _all is well_  
From Finn: _brought over some of rach's veg chili_  
From Finn: _little bro looks ready 2 burst lol_  
From Finn: _o he's very cranky btw_  
From Finn: _so good luck w/ that_

Blaine wanted to knock Finn's head into a wall. Kurt looked “ready to burst”? Don't jinx me now, Finn. Thanks to a nasty spring snowstorm, Blaine had been mandated to stay at the hospital and work a double shift. He half-convinced himself that Kurt was going to go into labor at their apartment, alone and possibly in the dark. He couldn't go longer than a half hour without calling or texting him, needing to know that Kurt was okay and not in the middle of birthing their son on the new rug in their living room.

From Kurt: _Was going to (sarcastically) thank you for the babysitter_  
From Kurt: _But instead will (gratefully) thank you for the maid_  
From Kurt: _Got Finn to vacuum_  
From Kurt: _& wash dishes_  
From Kurt: _& take clothes out of the dryer_  
From Kurt: _Am pretty sure I could've gotten him to scrub out the bathtub_

Blaine hopped onto a sheeted gurney, glancing around to make sure the ED nurse manager wasn't lurking behind his shoulder (again). He sent a text message to Finn, thanking him for braving over a foot of snow to check in on his pregnant stepbrother. He opened his mouth in either a silent yawn or an inaudible gasp as his fingers took it upon themselves to use the keypad on his cellphone to tap in Kurt's cell number. Kurt picked up on the second ring.

“Blaine,” his better half whined. “I'm about to nap 'cause being a human incubator is exhausting, so you need to not freak out if I don't answer for a while.” Blaine may or may not have whimpered rather pathetically. “What are you going to do when there's a little blue-eyed human you have to part with for hours and hours at a time?”

Blaine gulped loudly, playful. All it took was the sound of Kurt's voice to cheer him up. “Oh. Am I going somewhere? Although, I suppose we could head back to Ohio and move in with my parents. Then we'll never have to—”

“Shh, that's enough. You're scaring the baby. And me.”

“Can I at least get a picture to last me through the rest of this hellish shift?” He full-on pouted, waving at an aide as she hurried past him with a meal tray from the cafeteria. It was eerily slow in his department, so they had sent a few nurses up to the floors to help out. 

Kurt was impervious to Blaine's exaggerated performance of vocal sadness. “Um, can't you just look back on all the pictures I know you have saved on your phone? Perv.”

“I'm offended!” Blaine laughed, “You can't call the father of your child a perv.” Maybe Kurt wasn't totally in the wrong. He did sometimes wait for Kurt to fall asleep before taking any pictures of The Bump for the baby book so he wouldn't get verbally assaulted or, like, kicked. Kurt was one gracious host with one hell of a temper. “I want a new one. Please?”

“Okay, okay. How's this: If you let me sleep in peace, I'll do you one better... I will send you a video.” 

Blaine sighed contently. He wished Kurt sounded slightly less monotonous, but whatever. “I love you so much.” 

Kurt hesitated, his return sigh filled with impatience. “Mm-hmm. How much longer, Blaine? It—It slowed down out there a while ago. I think I see a little sun, actually.”

“I've got at least another four hours left, honey.” What an unnecessary snowstorm; it'd all melt away in a day or two, anyway. Hardly worth the hassle, you know? “I miss you like crazy. Gosh, this is the longest we've been away from each other since we...” Blaine smiled shyly. “Found out.”

If Blaine were a dog, Kurt's warm chuckle would've had his tail wagging. “You're certainly my little cutie, aren't you?”

Blaine held his chin up high. “'Big' cutie, thank you.”

“Uh-huh, right. You're definitely my big dork.”

As promised, the video came to him in the form of an e-mail attachment about three minutes after they hung up with each other. The only text was in the subject line, a “less than” inequality sign and the number three. Blaine flailed off the gurney, his face reddening slightly from holding back a giddy squeal. He pressed the play button in the middle of the screen, twirling around to the deserted nurse's station.

He plopped down in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. The video was seventeen seconds long—seventeen glorious seconds long. Blaine nodded to himself, yup. So much better than a picture. The sound of Kurt's voice (“Here you go, you freakin' caveman”) and the sight of his hips swaying from side to side as he lifted the hem of his white t-shirt up past his belly button made Blaine want to spin around with his arms up. “And,” Kurt drew the word out, “That's all you're getting!” His flirty, “For now,” kind of made Blaine want to knock his own head into a wall.

His boyfriend—nay, his fiancé was a tease. He was marrying a tease. He was procreating with a tease. Blaine continued to nod his head, fully satisfied with his life decisions. He touched the play button again, jumping to his feet as someone's fingernails scratched lightly across the back of his neck.

“Are you watching porn?” Blaine gaped stupidly at Santana, slipping his cellphone away into a pocket without pausing the video. She winked at him, proud. “Wanky.”

He gasped, “No!” Blaine huffed a little, offended. He would never. “Not that it's any of your—wait, why are you... You're not on the schedule.”

“I know. I'm here so you can leave. Go, get. You stink and your hair is making weird animal shapes, it's very fucking offensive.” She advised him to “pat that shit down.” 

“Are you serious?” Her eyeroll answered his question. He moved in to hug her, but Santana pulled a face and backed away with her hands up. “Right. I stink. And the hair thing. Oh, my... Santana, thank you for coming in. Thank you.”

“Whatever, just get out of here already. Go gets ya caveman on.” 

Blaine was sure he blushed all the way home. It felt like a month had passed by the time he dragged his feet through the door of their apartment. Teeth chattering, he sang out Kurt's name. He found Kurt in the kitchen, standing in front of the opened refrigerator with his white t-shirt rucked up over his rounded stomach. He lingered in the doorway, his partially frozen face defrosting as hot tears threatened to spill over in his eyes. Close, they were so close. 

Kurt continued staring ahead as he asked, “Are you just going to stand there?”

Um, what? Blaine had expected Kurt to at least, like, plow into him and accidentally knock him down the second he got home. “How'd you—?”

“Santana. You know she—?”

“I know.” He shrugged out of his outerwear, stepping around the small puddles of water from the clumps of snow he'd tracked in. Kurt shut the fridge door. 

“I was going to heat you up some dinner, but I guess I ate it all.” He yawned his way through an insincere, “Oops.”

That was fine; Blaine had eaten a hot meal at the hospital. He wasn't a big fan of Rachel's vegetarian chili, anyway (or any of Rachel's 'cooking'). “I... I really just want to sleep,” he admitted. “Actually, I really just want to hold you. God, you look so warm.” He came up behind Kurt, hugging him close. He tucked his chin over Kurt's shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Very toasty.”

Kurt hummed, eyes closed as he reached up to caress Blaine's stubbly cheek. “While you're back there,” he said after a moment, “I have an itch you can scratch.” Blaine kissed the nape of Kurt's neck before pulling his chest away from his back. He unwrapped one arm from around him, bringing his fingertips to rest between Kurt's shoulder blades. “Lower.” He traced them down Kurt's spine, stopping short above the loosened waistband of Kurt's gray yoga pants. “Lower, Blaine.”

Sleep could wait a while longer. 

[xoxo]

Kurt smacked his lips together, wincing in his sleep. He stopped singing mid-chorus in his dream, squinting out into the dark crowd as the stage lights grew too bright. He woke up long enough to push the bolster pillow out from under his knees. After a few seconds, he wiggled around until he could shift onto his side. Charles waited until Kurt's eyes were closed before he performed what could only be described as a triple twisting double back somersault. The unsteady landing left a persistent ache in Kurt's pelvis. 

“No,” Kurt whined in a whisper to his baby. He tried to roll onto his other side, but a dull pain flared up in his lower back and radiated into the front of his abdomen. For an entire moment, he forgot how to move air through his lungs or how to concentrate on anything that wasn't the nauseating pain pulsing through his trembling body. Once it passed, he tried to convince himself it'd just been an intense Braxton Hicks contraction. His mind refused to fall for such an obvious lie.

Kurt looked over at Blaine, his vision blurred from frightened tears. Despite a mental chanting of “let him sleep, he needs his sleep,” Kurt tapped him on the shoulder. He couldn't not bother him, not when he needed him so badly. He mouthed an apology as he pinched Blaine's arm. Blaine had barely gotten a chance to stir awake before Kurt rushed out with a panicked, “I think—oh, my god. I did. I'm in labor. I had a contraction. A real one, Blaine.” His voice faltered, “And it hurt.” 

Almost immediately, Blaine wailed nonsensically into his pillow. He flung an arm out, rolling right off the bed and onto the floor. He pawed at the nightstand drawer, pulling out a stopwatch. “Time, we need...” Blinking rapidly, he pressed his thumb over a button at the top of the timepiece. “We need t—to time, time the, uh...” He and Kurt stared at each other, the two of them wide-eyed and quiet aside from some heavy panting. Blaine's gaze fell down to where both of Kurt's hands grasped tightly at his belly. It was stupid to even ask, but he needed to hear it again. “N—now?”

Kurt nodded once, his bottom lip quivering slightly. “Now.” He ducked his head as a small sob bubbled up in his throat. Blaine climbed back into bed, reaching behind Kurt to rub his back. 

“Hey, shh. This is what we've been waiting for, right?”

“No, I... It hurt, it hurt more than I thought it would.” The false labor contractions had scared him at first, too. “Nuh-uh, I can't do this.” He accidentally knocked the stopwatch out of Blaine's hand. “My water didn't break yet. We can still—” He hissed, “We can still stop him.” 

Blaine kissed Kurt's brow, hiding his smile against the warm skin there. “At thirty-eight weeks, they _are_ going to deliver him.” He checked the time, deciding he would give Kurt's OB and their parents a call once they knew how far apart the contractions were. “So, he wants to come out. Who are we to stop him, hmm?”

Kurt sighed, sagging into Blaine's waiting arms. 

It took a few minutes, but Blaine managed to calm Kurt down. He rearranged the mess of assorted pillows between them, helping him lie back. After a few more minutes, he pulled the covers up and curled around Kurt. Blaine tucked his chin down, yawning into Kurt's shoulder. He put a hand on Kurt's stomach.

Kurt's eyelids soon grew heavy. He matched his breathing with Blaine's, their fingers linked together over the swell of his belly. “Maybe I was wrong?”

He had spoken too soon. Kurt rocked up as another contraction tore through him in strong, angry waves of a cramp-like pain. He held back a groan, tightening his grip around Blaine's hand. He hated them, hated how even his thighs hurt. He let go of Blaine, swatting at him for getting in his face and reminding him to breathe.

“I know,” he growled and gasped. “Easier said than done.”

“Okay, let's see... The contractions are twenty minutes apart and lasting for a minute. Yeah, you're definitely in early labor.” Kurt rolled his eyes, tossing a flat pillow off the bed. “I wonder how dilated you are now. I could—”

“Absolutely not.” He pressed his knees together. “I don't believe you were ever granted a work visa to travel south of the border.”

Blaine scoffed. “Kurt, I'm—”

“I don't care. You're not checking... That.” Kurt's eyes darted wildly around the room. Slowly, he slid both of his legs over the edge of the mattress. “I can't just sit here.” Blaine was suddenly in front of him in a wrinkled pair of inside out briefs. 

“No, stay put. How 'bout I go put your overnight bag by the door, then we can call all the grandparents to let them know they can book their flights?” He ruffled Kurt's hair, not waiting for a response. “Come on, give me a smile.”

If looks could kill, Blaine had a feeling his body would already be hacked up and lying on the ocean floor in a black garbage bag. He backed away slowly. 

“Hey, why do you suddenly have three suitcases packed?” Blaine asked from inside the walk-in closet, sounding confused yet wholly unsurprised. 

“Two for me, one for Charles.”

“One for... Kurt, this is too much.”

“Oh, I see. Hear that, Charles? Even though I've been carrying and nurturing you for thirty-eight weeks straight, it's too much for your daddy to take a few minutes to simply carry out a few—” Blaine dragged two heavy pieces of upright luggage out from the closet, sighing deeply. Kurt flashed him the smile he'd been asking for. “There's also a duffel bag on the counter in the bathroom, sweetie. It has all my lotions and hair products.” He sang out sweetly, “Thank you.” 

Three hours later, Kurt's contractions were still only twenty minutes apart and Blaine was quietly chugging his way through a second pot of coffee. Kurt huffed, urging Blaine repeatedly to get some shuteye before it was time to leave for the hospital. Blaine refused each time, insisting on following behind Kurt as he paced through their apartment with his hands on his hips. He stopped abruptly, his back arched tight. Blaine reached out to massage his shoulders.

“How much longer?” Kurt asked through his teeth, short of breath. 

Blaine winced. He responded with an honest, “I don't know.” His best guess wasn't an answer Kurt wanted to hear. “You want another drink of water? I can get you more water.”

Kurt shuffled his feet, standing in place. He ignored Blaine's offer. “Rachel's play opens tonight.”

“I don't think we'll be able to make it.” Blaine couldn't downplay his excitement. Kurt was in labor; their son was on his way. 

“Blaine.”

He laughed, pausing from pecking soft kisses to the back of Kurt's neck. He teased him, echoing his dejected tone. “Kurt.”

“Can't you do anything?” Kurt swore up at the ceiling. “I need to sit down again.” Once he was seated on the couch, he grabbed the front of Blaine's t-shirt. “Call Quinn. Tell her to bring me drugs, lots of drugs. Now.”

Blaine spoke slowly, “You know she can't do that.”

Kurt looked like he was about to stick his fingers into his ears. He shook his head. “I'm not doing this without drugs.”

“You don't have to. Kurt, this isn't anywhere near the hardest part.” 

“Why would you say that?” Kurt demanded to know, hysterical and red-faced.

“Oh, boy.” Blaine needed that baby out of him. Now.

[xoxo]

“Now isn't a good time. Yeah, he's been having contractions since 2 A.M. No, we're still at home. I know, we're... I _know_ , Finn.” 

Time ticked by slowly for Blaine. He hung up with Finn, feeling ages more weary for having accepted the call. He perked up, snapping his fingers at a supine Kurt as he padded swiftly into their bedroom. “Nuh-uh, get up. None of that. Sit up, Kurt.” He tried to sound as upbeat and friendly as possible, really he did. However, ten hours straight of getting repeatedly blown off by Kurt in a very non-satisfying way had worn down his patience. Blaine grabbed two pillows off the bed. “I know it hurts. That's why we're going to try another position, okay? There's one where you kneel—”

Kurt flung an arm over his head. He hid his eyes under the inside of his elbow. “No,” he said. “Getting on my knees is what got us into this position.” 

Blaine wanted to laugh, but any and all amusement was severely crushed by the tremendous weight of frustration he felt. He was done trying to humor Kurt, that was why he turned away from his grumbling fiancé. He scrubbed his hands over his crumpled face; although he was past counting backwards from ten, he was not past breaking down into a full-on ugly cry.

“Blaine, are you... I'm sorry. I—ah, I—I can't get... Uh—up to console you, oof. Hey, I'm like a turtle on his back over here. Come closer?” Kurt groaned, the next contraction starting up right as Blaine managed to pull him back up onto his feet. Muscles straining, his legs gave out on him and he sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress. Blaine nudged Kurt's thighs farther apart, dropping down quickly to kneel between them.

“Here, let's...” He inched back on his knees, encouraging Kurt to lean on him. “That's it, rest on me. Put your arms, yeah. Put your arms around my shoulders. That's it, baby.” Blaine held him close, supporting much of his weight. He hummed into Kurt's temple. “Try rocking your hips a little, that might help.”

“'M dizzy.”

Blaine pressed his lips together, reminding himself to keep his tone light and mostly free from we've already discussed this condescension. “That's because you're still holding your breath. Breathe in and out with me, okay?”

While he had nodded shakily, Kurt stopped listening after a couple of slow breaths. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, he tightened his grip on Blaine. “Don't move.”

Blaine would swear not to blink if it meant any less discomfort or pain for Kurt. “I won't.”

Kurt adjusted his arms once the contraction had passed, loosening their tense embrace. He shuddered and shifted, his forehead falling down to settle on Blaine's shoulder. He turned his head, breathing out sharply. “I'm hot. I'm melting.”

“You're doing great.”

“I wanna be done,” he scoffed as Blaine motioned for them to try standing up again. “I wanna—” Eyelids fluttering, he made a soft questioning noise. “Oh,” he squeaked. Kurt tilted his chin up. “Oh. Oh, no. I am, I'm truly melting.”

Blaine glanced to the side before meeting Kurt's gaze. “What?”

“My water broke,” he admitted in a small voice.

“For real this time?” Blaine blurted nervously. He winced as Kurt burst into tears. He stammered through a flustered apology, rubbing his palms down Kurt's back soothingly. “Why did I say that? It wasn't funny, I'm sorry.”

Kurt shook his head. “I ruined our bed,” he sobbed. “This comforter, the sheets.” The sheets were new; Egyptian cotton, too! He pushed Blaine's curious hand away from any needless feeling to see if his pajama bottoms were, in fact, soaked with amniotic fluid. “Don't, it's gross.”

“The sheets have met with worse bodily fluids, as have I.” Blaine was, after all, a nurse (and totally not referring to the incredibly messy sex they'd occasionally have). He patted Kurt's knee. “Let's get you into some dry clothes.”

Kurt reached behind himself to grab fistfuls of the comforter, grunting as he lifted his hips up and scooted his damp tush back. At the same time, Blaine tugged down on the waistband of his pants. Kurt sniffled a little, pursing his lips out to blow up at hair that'd fallen into his eyes. He let out a mockingly scandalized gasp. “Blaine, we don't have time for any of that.”

Blaine was too relieved about the glorious lack of fresh tears in Kurt's eyes to give much of a reaction. He pressed a hard, grateful kiss into the middle of Kurt's sweaty forehead. “God, I love you.” He dragged his hand over Kurt's belly, his touch eager but gentle. “And you,” he laughed as he felt a nudge from the baby under his palm. “Don't worry, Char. I haven't forgotten about you.”

“I think he has cold feet,” Kurt mumbled. “Like, literally. It feels like he's got his feet tucked under my liver, ugh.” He hooked a thumb into the collar of Blaine's t-shirt. He had already leaned away once to finish helping Kurt's uncooperative legs out of the soiled pants. “Blaine, you've got to do something with him. Can't, can't you coax him out or something? Sing a tune, maybe he'll—or maybe... I don't know. Please?”

Blaine didn't know what he expected from him. “I'm not a snake charmer, Kurt.”

Despite Blaine's solemn sincerity, Kurt heard the chuckle he tried to hide by clearing his throat. He pouted, yanking down on Blaine's shirt. “Are you laughing at me? I'm in labor and you're laughing at me. I'm pantless and in labor, and you're laughing at me.” He covered his other hand over Blaine's, his facial expression softening. “We're really doing this, aren't we?”

Blaine's voice cracked as he confirmed, “We are. We really are.”

Kurt let go of Blaine's t-shirt, his fingertips skimming down his chest absently. “I kind of never thought we'd actually get to this part. It always seemed so far off, like it'd never happen, but it is.” He inhaled shakily. “I'm having a baby.”

“You are.” Blaine couldn't stop smiling; he was close to vibrating with excitement. The anticipation alone made him fidgety. He forced himself to focus on Kurt, refusing to think about a certain fear-laden heaviness that'd settled into the pit of his stomach months and months ago. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. Kurt deserved his undivided attention. “You really are.”

Kurt's bottom lip relaxed from the exaggerated pout it'd been pushed out into. “You're crying.”

Blaine didn't say anything as Kurt brushed away the tears on his cheeks. Finally, he found Kurt's gaze again. “I am. I really am.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Blaine,” he sighed. They kissed, laughing nervously against each others' mouths. “I know what this pain means, what's going to follow it... I don't think it's really all gonna sink in until he's in my arms, though.” 

“Hey, don't look so scared. I'm here.” It was too early to start panicking, or at least that was what Blaine told himself. 

“Maybe I'd feel better if I weren't still sitting here, y'know, pantless and whatnot.” 

Blaine pushed hair out of Kurt's face, his limp bangs preferring to annoyingly fall forward again. “Okay, alright. I'm on it.”

Kurt let his upper body sink into the mattress once Blaine turned his back to him. He stretched his arms out over his head, yawning. “I'm so...” He trailed off, suddenly studying his hands with a concerned frown. “I'm so swollen. My fingers look like sausages. I don't even want to look at my feet right now.” In that moment, he swore he could hear his toes oinking at him. 

“I wouldn't worry about it. I don't think you could if you tried.” Blaine paused and looked over his shoulder to check on Kurt before throwing in a hurried, “That wasn't a challenge. Please don't try.” 

“I'm crushed,” Kurt stated flatly. He lifted his head up, his view obstructed by his largely distended abdomen. “Literally.” He plucked at his top, wondering if he should also change out of it. He wanted to look good for Charles. “Could you please help me up again, good sir? I need to fix my hair.”

Blaine dismissed his request with a firm, “Your hair looks fine.” He twirled around from Kurt's side of the closet, holding up a pair of tricolored trousers Kurt had recently sewn together. “How are these?” He closed his eyes and tried not to crinkle his nose at Kurt's breathy groan. “Kurt, there's not much else.”

Kurt clutched his belly with both hands. “Mmm, n—no. Son of a... Ooh, ow. Contraction.”

“What? Another one, already?” Blaine dropped the pants, his mouth falling open and then snapping shut as he closed the distance between them in three long strides. “I, I didn't... Where's my stopwatch? I need to...” He realized he must've left it on the couch or with his cellphone on the coffee table in the living room. Blaine frowned. Or maybe near the kitchen sink from when he'd gotten Kurt a glass of water earlier? “Hold on, I'll...”

“Ah, ah-ah. Get back here, mister. You do not get to leave me, not for a minute. N—not for anything.” There recently had been a few days where he refused to let Blaine out of his sight after he'd had a dream where Blaine somehow missed the birth of their son. “They're getting stronger. A lot stronger and, um, closer together. Oh, Charles. You're going to have to make this up to me, kid.” 

Blaine started to say something, but thought otherwise and shook his head. He cupped his hand along the side of Kurt's face, bending down to smack a loud kiss to his cheek. “I think we need to get, uh.” One chuckle was all it took to break his somewhat calm demeanor. “Get going. To the hospital. Yeah, wow. Wow.”

Kurt decided it wasn't necessary to point out to Blaine that he looked as if he were about to start crying again. Not when he could feel the tell-tale stinging in his own eyes. He reached up to stroke his fingers down the back of his head to the base of his neck. “I'm going to get changed.” He lifted his eyebrows challengingly, confusing Blaine for a couple of seconds. “So's the bed, okay?”

“Gotchya.”

He tried his hardest not to fall over while slipping into wonderfully different clothes as Blaine tried his hardest to keep Kurt steady while dragging the covers off their bed. He walked with Kurt into the living room, one of his hands planted firmly on Kurt's lower back. Blaine had been reaching for the doorknob on the closet door where they kept their outerwear when Kurt doubled over.

“I gotta sit down.” Kurt heaved a groan of pain. “Now, now. I need to sit down now.” He grunted over Blaine's protest for him to wait until he could grab a chair out from the kitchen. 

Blaine tried to pull him toward an ottoman, but Kurt whimpered and wouldn't budge. He braced himself behind Kurt, easing him gently onto the floor once his knees had buckled. “You're going to give me a...” Kurt's head slumped to the side. Seized by panic, Blaine shook him. “Kurt?”

“S—sorry,” Kurt choked out wearily. “I'm...”

“Oh, god. You, you've got to work with the contractions. You're going to pass out if you don't stop holding your breath.” Kurt scoffed hotly at Blaine's reminder of the breathing and relaxation techniques they'd learned about in the many childbirth classes they had gone to. “Hey, no. Don't give me that. You need to relax, Kurt.”

“What I need is drugs. There is no relaxing, Blaine. My half-assed uterus is trying to spit out a little human.” Preparing to, at least (and perhaps not the best choice of words judging by the strange look on Blaine's face). Kurt laughed at himself, miserable and beat. Up until that first contraction, he had foolishly thought he'd had a high tolerance for pain. He sighed, a little soothed by Blaine's fingers as they lightly massaged his shoulders.

“I'm going to call Finn,” Blaine decided out of nowhere. He pressed down harder, rubbing circles into the tight muscles above Kurt's shoulder blades. “I can't drive us. I can't, I'll... I just can't. Finn's off today, he won't say no. Better than waiting for a taxi, better than...” Crashing. Besides, he'd have an extra set of hands he could trust. “Is that okay with you?”

The less people who saw him like this, the better. However, Kurt bit his tongue and silently agreed with whatever Blaine thought was best. He tilted his head back, inhaling deeply through his nose. He tried to let the breath out slowly. It all rushed out at once, his focus pulled away by fluttering kicks from the baby. He smiled, shimmying his shoulders until Blaine stilled his hands. Kurt brought both of his own hands up from holding onto his stomach to wrap his fingers around one of Blaine's thin wrists. He tugged lightly until Blaine got the message and leaned forward. His warm lips grazed over Blaine's cheek. “I'm ready,” he said more to himself than his fiancé. On second thought? “I feel like I'm going to throw up.”

Blaine talked to Finn on his cellphone while he shoveled through the unorganized pile of shoes in the hallway closet. Kurt was quite ashamed of the mess. He shook his head, gagging at a pair of silver moccasin slippers Blaine held up. Absolutely not. If he had to, he would (have Blaine) rub oil all over his feet just to force them into anything else. Before an argument could break out, Finn knocked at the apartment door. Neither of them had expected him to show up within two minutes of Blaine making the call. 

Finn, after letting himself in, grinned sheepishly at their surprised faces. “I sort of headed over here after we got off the phone earlier,” he confessed. “Man, I really couldn't wait. Rachel's been gone since, like, dawn. She's over at the... Whoa.” He asked Kurt, “Are you okay?” and then to Blaine, “Is he okay?” Again, he inquired from his stepbrother: “Why are you on the ground?” Then, again, Finn turned to Blaine and demanded to know, “Why is he on the ground?” 

Blaine insisted, “He's fine.” He dropped down onto his knees to kneel beside Kurt, who glared at the ugly moccasins he was still holding on to. “Say, could you take those suitcases out to your car?”

“Whoa... Where are you guys really headed?” 

“Just take them out to your car, Finn!” Finn stared at Kurt as if his head had done a 360 degree spin right there on his shoulders. Blaine stood up carefully, his hands raised at the two of them. 

“You sure he's okay? He looks like of red and... Puffy?” Honestly, Finn couldn't figure out why the heck Blaine kept shaking his head at him. Huh, and why he was maybe mouthing the words “no” and “stop it”? Finn kind of had trouble understanding Blaine sometimes. A lot of sometimes. “Like, more than usual.”

Kurt tried to snatch a slipper out of Blaine's hand. “Oh, and does he also look deaf? 'Cause he's sitting right here.”

Blaine flashed Finn an incredulously exasperated look. Finn grimaced, embarrassed. He glanced away, weirded out by how one of Blaine's eyelids seemed to be twitching quite erratically. “Oh, and... Um, Rachel wanted me to give you guys your tickets to her play for tonight. She said to just in case this is another, you know, 'false alarm.'”

“It's not.”

Kurt nodded eagerly, catching and holding onto Blaine's bright gaze. “It's really not.”

Blaine smiled down at him, his voice quiet. “Really.”

“Okay.” Finn waited impatiently for a moment to quietly pass where Kurt and Blaine just stared at each other with sparkling hearts in their eyes before clearing his throat. “Hey, little bro. You need help getting up?”

“I think you're going to need a crane to get back back on my feet,” Kurt admitted dryly. Blaine bent down at the waist, spreading his legs farther apart. He offered his hands to Kurt, palms up. 

“Don't be silly.”

“I'm not being silly, I'm being... Ooh. Oh, crud. Ah, Blaine.” By now, Blaine knew what those sounds meant. Kurt closed his eyes, the tendons in his neck sticking out noticeably as he fought back a groan. He clenched his jaw, struggling to even out his heavy breathing. Blaine wiped a tear off his cheek with one gentle sweep of his thumb. 

Finn's eyes, lit brightly with panic, widened. “What's wrong? Is he, why is he... I'm, I'll call an ambulance?” He frowned, annoyed when Blaine shushed him. “But he's in pain.” 

“Blame your nephew,” Kurt grunted with effort. “He's in trouble, he's in so much...” Kurt's mouth opened to form a narrow 'O,' but not a sound croaked out.

“Focus on something else. Focus on...” Blaine trailed off, distracted by how uncomfortable Finn looked. He moved around from Kurt's side to crouch in front of him. Even if Finn was family, Kurt didn't need an audience. Blaine felt fiercely more protective of Kurt, wanting to make sure he had his privacy. “The baggage, Finn. Please? By the time you get back, we'll be ready to head out.” 

“Oh, right. Okay.” Finn grabbed at the largest suitcase, careful not to grumble about how heavy it was. He stole one more glance as Blaine stroked Kurt's wide stomach and nuzzled his ear as he spoke in hushed tones into it. Something he said made Kurt chuckle and duck his head. Blaine chased the abrupt movement, kissing Kurt's glowing cheek. He couldn't hear much, catching only the words “beautiful” and, after another chaste kiss, “daddies.” Suppressing a fond and perhaps slightly envious smile, Finn rolled his eyes. He reached for another piece of luggage, tuning out Blaine's whispered encouragements to Kurt. 

[xoxo]

“I told you, your hair looks fine.” Blaine's smile was tight as he gunned for the aerosol can of hairspray in Kurt's hand. Kurt gave it up easily, tossing his compact mirror aside. He cocked his head, throwing an unimpressed glance at the pale green hospital gown draped over Blaine's arm. His pout, while adorable and nearly irresistible, only earned him a pinch on the cheek. The expression on his face fell. 

“Why am I still pregnant?” He kicked off the moccasin slippers he had been blackmailed into wearing. Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Why can I still feel my legs?” 

“Sorry, honey.” Blaine drew out the endearment. “You can't get the drugs until the doctor sees you and the doctor can't see you until...” He held up the wrinkled gown, waving it in front of Kurt. Kurt's sneer was egged on by defeat. He tugged at the garment, sighing loudly through his nose. “Love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Blaine closed the snaps on the back of the gown once Kurt had shed out of his clothes and slipped it on. He smoothed his palms down from Kurt's chest to the sides of his stomach. Kurt lifted his arms up, encircling them loosely around Blaine's neck. “Love you,” he said softly. 

Time finally started to speed up once Kurt donned the bleak hospital gown. Two friendly nurses charged into the room, one strapping a monitor around Kurt's belly while the other took his vitals. Nothing more than pleasantries were exchanged; he and Blaine had already answered a slew of questions at check-in. Kurt wasn't feeling particularly talkative, either. He maintained eye contact with his fiancé the entire time, calmed by the warmth in Blaine's gaze. Right as Blaine's fingers slid through his own, Kurt gasped shakily. 

For Kurt (and Blaine's hand), it seemed as if the contraction didn't want to stop. It went on for about twenty seconds longer than any of the previous ones, its strength intensifying. Kurt leaned heavily to the side, clutching at Blaine until the merciless contraction passed. He sniffed, opening his mouth against Blaine's shoulder to let him feel his teeth and know what he was truly capable of. Blaine smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“I got you.”

One of the nurses was still standing there, fiddling with the touchscreen on the machine at Kurt's bedside. She waited until Kurt was sitting back before she adjusted the positioning of the circular ultrasound transducers on his stomach. “This one tracks your contractions,” she told him. “And this one monitors your baby's heartbeat. One fifty-four. That's great, strong and healthy.” She tucked Kurt's gown down over his stomach. “Your doctor should be with you shortly.”

“Should?” Blaine questioned reluctantly as Kurt demanded elaboration on 'shortly.'

She winced, apologetic. “Dr. Haas is in the middle of delivering triplets. We had to page the on-call doctor, who's in the OR right now. He said he would send over one of his—”

Sebastian barged in without knocking. “Hello, I hear there's a... Blaine.” His eyes dropped to land on Kurt. “Oh.”

Kurt's mind was reeling from the contraction; it took him a few seconds to figure out why Sebastian was standing in front of him. He appeared speechless before erupting with, “No! Absolutely not. He is not touching me. God, he's not even a doctor.”

“Kurt,” Sebastian said patiently and much too sweetly. “Dr. Lee wouldn't have—”

“Please leave, you're obviously upsetting him.” Blaine brought Kurt's hand up to kiss his knuckles. He let go to shuffle around to the end of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. Of course Sebastian just happened to be on his OB/GYN rotation when Kurt went into labor. Of course. “We're in a hospital, there's got to be someone else. Anybody else.”

“Call Quinn. Get me Quinn.” Kurt lifted his leg up to push his curled toes into the back of Blaine's thigh. He preferred his baby daddy within arms reach. “And pizza. I want Quinn and pizza.” He patted his belly, wearing another pout for Blaine after he turned to him with a wildly quizzical frown on his face. “What? I'm hungry. I can't give birth to your baby on an empty stomach.”

Sebastian's condescending smirk had the corners of Kurt's mouth tugging down angrily. “You can have ice chips.”

Kurt reached behind his head to grab a fistful of the pillow there. “You can have—”

“Okay!” Kurt's nurse scribbled down an extension number on a post-it note. She tucked it into the front pocket on Sebastian's lab coat. “Mr. Smythe, Dr. Fabray is down in the clinic today. Why don't you go call her, yes... Right now, thank you.”

Blaine scowled at the back of Sebastian's head as he grumbled his way out of the hospital room. The nurse excused herself, earning a little wave from Blaine. He took several small steps, stopping to lean his hip against the side of the bed. He brushed his fingers down Kurt's cheek, his skin hot and sweaty under Blaine's touch. The weight gain from the pregnancy had softened his facial features, reminding Blaine of the boy he met on a staircase seven years ago. 

A wild Finn then appeared. “Hey, is the baby here yet? I want to meet my...” All of his excitement withered away. “Gosh, Kurt. You sure like taking your time with things.”

“Right, Finn. Right! Labor is a blast, I hope it goes on for another fifteen hours.” Kurt squeaked, a tremble raking through his body. Oh, god. He jinxed himself. He totally jinxed himself. Kurt made another high-pitched sound that was close to a sob. “Blaine, I can't do this for another fifteen hours. I will burst into a million pieces. I will melt into a puddle of inflammable goo. I can't, I can't.”

Oh, god. Finn broke Kurt. He totally broke Kurt. “Is there anything you guys need? Other than, like, um. The obvious?” His speech grew unintentionally louder as he asked, “Is there anything I can do? Just say the word.”

Kurt certainly had two words for him. He lit up, if only for a minute. He settled on an elated, “Pizza.”

Blaine's eyes were on Finn as he answered Kurt's request with a stern, “No.”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt pointed his thumb in Blaine's direction. He brought his other hand up to the side of his head and made a circling motion with his pointer finger. “Finn, go. You can get me a slice of pizza. Plain.”

Quinn, her hair a shade lighter and chopped shorter than either Kurt or Blaine could last remember, hurried past Finn. “What you can get him is either broth, a Sprite, or ice chips. No solids; he can have clear liquids.” She met and matched Kurt's glare. “Or he can have nothing.” She winked, her sincere smile full of joy. “Kurt, hi. Do you mind if I...?” She gestured at him, hesitant.

“If you give me drugs? Not at all.” He snapped his fingers. “Get to it.”

“Cute,” Quinn said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “I'll have the nurse get anesthesiology up here once I finish examining you.” She opened an overhead cupboard and pulled out a disposable drape sheet. She threw an annoyed glance at Finn, who was blatantly staring at her. “Once I finish examining you,” she repeated with a fiery emphasis on every word.

The tips of Finn's ears and his cheek filled rapidly with color. He started, blinking hard and fast. “Right,” he said quickly. “Examining. That means... I'm going to go... Not get pizza. Sorry, bro.”

His hand on Kurt's shoulder, Blaine called out to Finn. “Hey, could you call your mom and Burt to get an ETA? I haven't heard from them in a while. I'm sure they'll want an update.”

Kurt stretched his long legs out, locking one ankle over the other. He huffed out a bitter laugh. “You can tell them they haven't missed anything.”

“Got it.” Finn slowed his pace, turning slightly as he checked Quinn out from behind. Blaine and Kurt exchanged a look. “Got it,” he mumbled again to himself. He remembered to shut the door all the way without being asked.

Quinn brushed her gloved fingertips down the arches of Kurt's stubborn feet. “Come on, Kurt. Don't make me get the stirrups out.” She hummed, draping the paper-thin sheet over his bare legs as he bent his knees. Quinn performed a physical examination of his abdomen to determine the size and position of the baby before moving on to examine his cervix. “Scoot your bottom down a little... Little more.”

Kurt tried to stare up at the ceiling, but Blaine's eyes were too distracting. Sure, they were awfully pretty. They also were so wide they looked like they were only seconds away from popping out of his skull. He frowned, pushing up on his elbows to peer over his distended stomach. “You buildin' a shrine down there, Fabray?” 

“Kurt,” Blaine warned as Quinn snapped off her purple exam gloves and stated, “Six.”

“That's how dilated you are. Six centimeters.” She turned away, her back to them as she washed her hands at the sink across the room. “Congratulations, you're over halfway through labor.” 

“Six? That's it, six?” Kurt groaned over whatever Blaine had to say, his lips pressed together. “Mmphh.” He grasped the half-length bedrails on either side of him, pushing his feet into the thin mattress beneath him. 

It was Quinn's turn to snap her fingers. “No, Kurt, no pushing. Hey, hey. You hear me? No bearing down, no pushing. You'll tear your cervix if you keep that up.”

Kurt hated that word. Tear. The sound of it made him want to vomit. He flinched even harder, shuddering through the pain. Charles was making him work overtime for the honor of being his father... One of his fathers. Off the record, he hoped the kid picked a favorite (him). Kurt's fingers ached from their tight grip on the bedrails. He let Blaine pry them off, sighing as he sunk back against a pillow. “Six,” he whispered brokenly. “I feel like I've been pregnant forever. Now it's time to be in labor forever, I guess.”

Blaine only half-listened, concentrating on hearing in on the verbal orders Quinn was currently rattling off to a nurse. “You won't be in labor forever. He's on his way.” He stroked Kurt's hair back, his thumb sliding down to trace the curve of his ear. 

“Maybe we can smoke him out? Or, given that he's our son, maybe we can lure him out with a duet—Oh, give me your hand.” Kurt showed him where to put his hand. “He's really...”

Quinn wanted to know, “Is everything alright over there?” 

Blaine nodded, too choked up to say anything. Feeling foolish, he wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand while continuing to feel up Kurt's stomach. He apologized for the tears, overwhelmed by the past dozen plus hours. Kurt shushed his apology, pulling Blaine's hand down from his face to kiss his knuckles.

Quinn smiled at the two, stepping quietly out of the room to give them a moment to themselves and their presently unborn child. 

[xoxo]

“You bought more stuff for the baby? Dad...”

“What kind of grandpa would I be if I didn't spoil my grandson?” Burt set down a sparkly gift bag that had a pair of green balloons tied to the handle. Carole's lips parted slightly as she cleared her throat. “What kind of grandparents would we be if we didn't spoil our grandson?” He took off his faded baseball cap, eying all the different medical equipment that had been loaded into the birthing suite. They were prepared for anything. “How you holdin' up?” 

Kurt's smile widened. “Splendid,” he sighed happily. “I am most certainly splendid. Splendidly splendid, I must say.” 

“Someone's suddenly singing a different tune,” Finn grumbled. Kurt had thrown a plastic pitcher of water at him earlier for taking a picture of him mid-contraction. What, it was for the baby book! Blaine had been all for it, okay? And that stupid water pitcher had been full, okay? With water and ice. 

“Singing? Yes, oh. Yes. Blaine. Where's my Blaine? Blaine,” Kurt called out sweetly. “Blaine, come back.” He clapped his hands together. “We're going to sing, darling.”

Burt decided not to tell Kurt that his darling Blaine was hiding in the bathroom (so he could suck down the sweet and creamy caffeinated beverage Burt had sneaked in for him). “Not here, none of that. No singing.” In a rush, he added “not now” and then promised for a “later” because Kurt looked genuinely upset. “Chuck givin' ya any problems?”

“Chuck?” Kurt wrinkled his nose, not pleased about his firstborn receiving yet another nickname. “My child is not a Chuck.” He also refused to let anyone get away with calling his rugrat 'Chuckie.' Kurt glanced to the side and then down, noticing Burt checking out the IV he was attached to. He had only been hooked up to a drip to treat for hypotension a short while ago. “Oh, um. No? My blood pressure dropped a little. They say it's 'cause of the epidural.”

Carole made a small gasping noise. “Not the splendidly splendid epidural.”

Kurt nodded, holding a hand up to his chest. “The betrayal stings,” he confessed solemnly. He glanced up at his father, an uneasy feeling washing over him. He didn't like Burt's tight, wary smile. Kurt pushed his palms over the sides of his hard belly, his shoulders lifting off the pillow until he could clasp his hands against the underside of his stomach. He tried not to frown, the back of his hand burning where the IV needle had gotten tugged around by his restless movement. Suddenly, a shrill beep erupted from one of the machines near Kurt's bed.

At the same time, Kurt's nurse flew into the room and Blaine stumbled hastily out of the bathroom. “It's okay,” she stated in a very calm manner to Kurt. He wheezed out a weak whimper, confused and scared. When Blaine reached for his hand, Kurt pulled away. “It's okay, the baby probably just moved away from the...” Sure enough, all she had to do was readjust the placement of a transducer. “There we go.” She turned up the volume on the monitor until everyone could hear the galloping sound of Charles' heartbeat. She patted Kurt's arm. “Hear that? Breathe, sweetie.” The RN looked at Blaine. “Maybe it's a little too busy in here.”

“Yeah, maybe we should...” Kurt's fingers found their way around Blaine's wrist and they gave it a sharp tug. Blaine trailed off when he saw how much color had drained from Kurt's face.

“You... Your breath.” Kurt sounded just as irritated as he was breathless. “I smell coffee.” He still had his other hand pressed over his heart where he could feel the thud, thud, thud under his palm. “Can that not happen again, please? My heart feels like it's gonna pop out of my chest and... Knock that freakin' camera out of Finn's hand!”

“It's off, it's off.” Finn pocketed the digital camera, shrugging at his parents and Blaine. He flinched, Burt's hand on his shoulder. “I swear it's off.”

“I think it's time for us to go set up camp in the waiting room.” Carole nodded along with Burt. They had joked about a 'Hummelville' during the cab ride to the hospital. “If you kids need anything...” He chuckled. “'Kids.' There's a word I can't use anymore, huh?”

“Yes, that's right. We're men.” Kurt didn't pause or blink as the nurse, without warning, secured an inflatable cuff around his upper arm. He'd gotten used to his blood pressure getting taken every fifteen minutes to a half hour. “In fact, only the manliest of men can give birth. I bet you three are feeling pretty inadequate right now.” 

“Dude,” Finn grunted. “You're not wrong. I don't think I, uh. There's no way, definitely no way I could go through all... All 'this.' You've got me, beat, Kurt.”

By the time they were alone again, Kurt was blinking away tears. He watched as Blaine toyed around with the monitor, irritated that the nurse had muted it on them. He hummed, pinching the side of a paper strip that'd printed out of the machine measuring the frequency of Kurt's contractions. 

“Hey? Hi.” Blaine turned around only when Kurt touched his elbow. “I think Finn gave me too much credit. I couldn't have gotten through all 'this,' you know. Not without you.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Well, I couldn't have done any of this without you.” 

Blaine brought the tip of his finger up to Kurt's nose. He teased, “Are you thanking me for my sperm?”

Kurt couldn't quite hold a serious expression as he stated, “It's good stuff.” He cocked his head to the side, Blaine's fingers cool against his skin as they caressed his cheek. His thumb traced along the unshaven curve of his jaw. Kurt figured they'd both have full beards by the time Charles decided to pop on out. 

“I think I'm going to...” Blaine brought his mouth down to Kurt's for a quick, soft kiss. “Blame the sleep deprivation for this bizarre conversation.”

“What, I can't be grateful for your sperm?” He waited patiently for Blaine to thank him for his wondrous egg. “Blaine Anderson, are you blushing?”

Blaine blinked sleepily. Even though he was the one who'd had a coffee with a shot of espresso, Kurt was too awake for him. He watched Kurt closely, more than thankful for the pain relief he had received from the epidural. Kurt had calmed down a lot; seeing him so relaxed made Blaine much less anxious... Until he remembered why they were in the hospital.

“He's worth it,” he mumbled out loud to himself without meaning to. “The wait,” he said in response to the weird look Kurt was giving him. “He's worth the wait.”

“Don't encourage him. I want my body back.” Kurt wasn't much for sharing. He needed to find a way to charge Charles for not leaving his body the way he found it. There was a joke at the tip of his tongue about requiring a hefty deposit from any future tenants. He decided to keep it to himself, unsure if either he or Blaine could resist making a pun on 'deposit.' Kurt whined, yanking up on his blanket when he heard a knock at the hospital room door.

“Look what I have,” Quinn sang from the doorway with a lidded bowl in her hands. She had changed out of a blouse and skirt and into a pair of scrubs. “Yum, yum. Low sodium chicken broth. Did you want a spoon?”

“A knife. I want a knife.” Kurt gritted his teeth, ignoring Blaine's huffy sigh of disapproval. “Honestly, Quinn. That's the best you can do, honestly? It's not like I asked for a steak dinner.” Just a slice or three of pizza, that was all.

“Kurt,” Quinn stated in an unmistakeably condescending tone, “Let me give you a little reminder. Right now, I am not your friend. I am your doctor. As your doctor, 'doing my best' involves providing quality care to you and your—” 

“God help us, I'm getting a speech.” 

Blaine grabbed the broth from Quinn. “He gets... When his blood sugar is low, he's... I need to get something in him.”

Kurt would sooner pour the powdery “broth” over Blaine's head before he'd drink any of it. He turned his nose up. “Nuh-uh,” he grunted. “What I need is to get someone out of me. If only I knew of a doctor who could—”

“Working on it,” Quinn promised. She tuned out his ranting, quiet as she tapped on his ankles for him to part his knees. She concentrated on the exam, not even aware he had stopped barking. Quinn apparently needed to work on her poker face; Kurt cursed in another language, his head falling back with a dramatic flair. He hadn't progressed much since she last examined him. 

Kurt couldn't say anything for a long moment, his face pinched tight. “Eight?” he pondered hopefully. Her lack of a response was not the answer he wanted. He kicked his feet out, his elbow narrowly missing the bowl Blaine was still holding on to as he brought a hand up to cover over his eyes. He mouthed, “You've gotta be...” All it took was for him to choke out a broken syllable before Blaine was climbing into the bed to sit beside him, his arm circling protectively around Kurt. Quinn had moved with him, adjusting the wires and IV until he was settled against Kurt's side. 

Quinn lingered silently, keeping an eye on the machine monitoring Kurt's contractions. She looked up from the current readings, catching the way Kurt's other hand moved under the blanket to move over his belly. 

“Having a baby is hard work,” Kurt said suddenly, his voice hoarse. “It's not easy.”

“If labor was easy,” Quinn stated automatically, “it wouldn't be called labor.” 

Kurt's mouth twitched into a small smirk. “There's that too.”

“You're moving along. Slowly, but steadily. That's what matters, it's what we want. Keep your head up, Kurt.” 

“Easier said than done,” Kurt said for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day. 

“I'll help,” Blaine whispered into Kurt's neck. He loved the pleased smile that took over Kurt's face, loved how Kurt's eyes crinkled at the corners. “I wish there was more I could do.” It didn't seem fair to either of them. Kurt slumped down lower, leaning his weary head to the side until he could rest it against Blaine's. 

“How well do you think he responds to threats?”

Blaine laughed into Kurt's tousled hair, pulling him in closer. “Not very well. Let him be. Charlie will be with us soon... 'Er or later.” He squeaked out a laugh, not expecting Kurt to pinch his thigh. 

“I think he's going to take more after you.”

“Aw, honey. You say that like it's a bad thing. I'm charming and adorable.”

“If he were more like me, we could've bribed him out already with a fabulous new scarf.” 

“That's true. Ow, hey. Stop pinching me!” 

Quinn backed out of the room slowly, mumbling something about needing to go check on other patients.

[xoxo]

Blaine smacked his lips together, his jaw popping as he yawned into Kurt's ear. Kurt furrowed his brows, shrugging his shoulder into Blaine's. 

“Your phone's been making lots and lots of noises,” he pointed out for a second time as he dipped his spoon into a clear container of lime jell-o. He lifted his shoulder up again, his bottom lip jutted out. “Could be your parents.”

His hand on Kurt's stomach, Blaine pushed his fingertips over the tight skin where Kurt believed he once had a belly button. “My mom already called to say her flight doesn't leave until, um, a time that's either very late tonight or very early tomorrow morning.”

“And your dad?”

“I guess he can't make it out until, like, next week or something.” His mother had brought up a three-word excuse Blaine knew very well: 'mandatory board meetings.'

The wrinkle in Kurt's forehead smoothed out. “Oh.”

“No, don't—don't worry about it. Gosh, I gotta get up.” Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose, not making any attempt to move. “I can't keep lying here. I gotta get up before I fall asleep on you.”

“That's okay. Go for it.” Kurt sniffed a spoonful of the gelatin dessert. He tried to pass it off to Blaine, but his wrist was gently pushed away. He took in a long breath, staring down into the jiggly jell-o. “Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle... Will fall... And down will come... Oh, god. No, that's morbid. That's ridiculously morbid.”

“But oh so soothing. Um, I mean... Yeah, wow. What kind of parents would put their baby in a cradle that's up in a tree?”

An amused grunt startled them both. “Sounds like you two are havin' a serious conversation.”

Acting on an old instinct, Blaine pushed off the handrail and hopped out of the bed. “Burt, hi. No baby yet, sir.”

Kurt's impatient sigh and whiny addendum of “no baby ever” went ignored. 

Burt peered behind Blaine. “I see that.”

“Me too,” Kurt mumbled sadly.

“Carole and Finn are about to head down to the cafeteria.” Burt sat down on a chair, pushing up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. “Thought maybe Blaine could use a break.”

Blaine narrowed his eyes in confusion. “A break? A break from wh—ohh, no. No, that's, no.”

“Blaine, look at this.” Kurt held up the snack a nurse had finally given to him only a few minutes ago. “One of us deserves some real food. We're going to be married and in the middle of swooning during the next Avengers movie before this kid comes out to play.” He set the jell-o down on the tray in front of him. He circled his fingers around a can of soda, but didn't pick it up. “Also, I think my monitor is picking up traces of your rumbling stomach.”

“I'd rather not,” Blaine insisted while shaking his head.

“Kurt needs ya upright. You can take ten or fifteen minutes to refuel.” Burt's gaze was on Kurt as he continued. “Besides, I kind of wanted a few minutes with my boy before fatherhood smacks him in the face.” Kurt frown, feeling his cheek for whatever reason. 

“Oh, okay. S—sure, I'll just... Eat. I'll go eat. Okay.” Sure, why not go off and stuff his face while his fiancé was in labor? He looked back at Kurt, who seemed ready to doze off. Good luck on keeping his attention for more than fifteen seconds, Burt. Kurt offered Blaine a smile that met his eyes beautifully. “Okay,” he repeated reluctantly.

Less than a few minutes later, Blaine was biting into a cold slice of pizza. He ate quickly, barely tasting any of the food that Finn and Carole had loaded onto his tray. He heard them talking to him, but he couldn't really concentrate on what they were saying. Blaine's mind drifted away to think about his father, about what his dad would want to say to him if he were pregnant and moments away from being a first-time dad. He was only coming up with blanks. Nothing, it dawned on him. That was why. His father would still be in Ohio; nothing would be different.

There wasn't much John Anderson cared about outside of his fast-paced career. He didn't care about the birth of his first grandchild. It wasn't a big deal to him. The truth wasn't particularly surprising, but still managed to sting a little. Mr. Anderson's number one priority had always been his job. Past providing to them monetarily, it was obvious to Blaine that his father felt no obligation to his family. They were just an out-dated picture on his desk. Blaine's mom had been the same way up until he graduated high school. She waited until he'd flown the coop before she realized she wanted to be involved in his and Kurt's lives. 

Right. It was all for the best, Blaine decided. He tried not to let it get to him, tried to not feel hurt about his dad not wanting to have any kind of talk with him before the birth of his son. John didn't have much wisdom to relay, anyway. Blaine could only his father's distance as an example of how not to parent. Yeah, definitely. It was all for the best. Blaine was going to be an awesome dad. He was going to be there for his son. Kurt and Charles were his life. No matter what, they would always come first.

“Blaine, dear. Please swallow before you choke.” Carole was side-eyeing him quite mightily. He'd just keep taking one bite after another.

“That's weird,” Finn said suddenly. He had stood up to fish his cellphone out of his pants pocket. “Why is Burt calling me? He knows we're...”

Blaine spit out the half-chewed food into a napkin, not wiping his mouth off before he took off from the table. He ran past the elevators to the stairs. The maternity floor was locked, but he swiped his badge for access to a shortcut. When he got to Kurt's room, he found it filled with people. Quinn and Sebastian were arguing while three nurses moved around urgently.

The first words he heard had come out of Quinn's mouth. “Kitty, grab me the SonoSite. I need for you to call the OR and have them prep for an emergency c-section.”

Blaine stopped breathing, his vision spinning. 

Sebastian shook his head. “Rich said to—”

“Dr. Haas isn't here.” Quinn accepted the portable ultrasound from her nurse. “Call the OR.”

“Absolutely not,” Kurt panted over the nurse's reply. He was breathing with more difficulty than Blaine had ever seen, even after he had fractured a rib. “I have not spent the past fifteen hours grunting, glistening, dilating, and contracting for a freakin' c-section!”

One nurse called out about how the fetal heart rate “was still declining,” while another brought up the severe drop in Kurt's blood pressure and his tachycardia to the doctor.

Blaine couldn't make it over to Kurt in time before his eyes rolled back into his head, his body going limp. He yelled out Kurt's name. Burt grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back as he reached out desperately for Kurt's hand. Quinn kicked at the brakes on the wheels at the foot of the bed, her head turned as she gave orders.

“You told me to leave,” Blaine snapped. He fought against Burt's solid hold around him. “You told me to leave. Kurt, Kurt.”

[xoxo]

Quinn refused to let him into the OR with Kurt (with her). 

“No. I'm sorry. You can't... You need to stay out here, Blaine. Please, go wait with... I'm sorry.”

“They need me, Dr. Fabray. Quinn, please.”

“I don't—” She turned away from him, pausing to rub her brow and take a deep breath. “I can't have you in there. Please try to understand, Blaine.”

He hit the gray wall with his fists before sliding down it, a tightness unraveling in his chest. Every part of his body, inside and out, ached and burned.

“Get away from me,” he whispered without as much as a glance in her direction. Not that it mattered.

Quinn had already left to scrub into Kurt's surgery. 

Blaine forced his eyes shut, his face contorted with pain and frustration. Legs bent in front of him, he raked his fingernails down the length of his thighs.

“Blaine? Blaine, what the fuck?” 

Blaine jerked his head from side to side. He slid his palms up to grip the tops of his knees. “Not now, Santana.”

“Sure, uh-huh. Okay, why aren't you—”

“I'm not fucking around.” He missed Santana's flinch. “You need t—to go, go away. I can't...” He tucked his chin down, stifling a sob. “I—I can't...” Blaine shoved his elbows back into the wall, straightening his legs out in front of him. He stammered out Quinn's name, blinking hard and the corner of his lips quivering as he hugged his arms around himself. “Quinn kicked me out. “There's something wr—wrong with my son and she kicked me out.”

Santana scoffed, “That bitch.” She sighed, kneeling down. “Listen, I'll talk to her. Alright? Stay put and, like, calm down a lot 'cause we don't need you flooding the OR with your ginormous tears.” She shushed him, covering two fingers over his mouth. “Ah-ah, no. I don't need words from you. Just nod your head.” His defiant, teary-eyed glare amused her more than it had any right. Hell, it kind of turned her on. “Good enough.”

Blaine tried not to snap his teeth at her fingers. He tipped his head back once she was gone, trying to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. Kurt had decided against a Caesarean section months ago, wanting to avoid major abdominal surgery. Now, with the possibility of a compressed umbilical cord, there hadn't been any other choice: the medical staff needed to get the baby out as quickly as possible.

It wasn't fair. They'd come too far to lose him now. He and Kurt hadn't overcome fear and reluctance only to have their little boy taken away from them. Charles was part of him, of Kurt, and Blaine wasn't ever letting go. The three of them were a family. All Blaine wanted was a happy, healthy family. He hoped that wasn't too much to ask for. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Nothing about life was ever fair. Knowing that, believing that; feeling that, he hoped harder. 

“That's enough, get up. They were able to rotate your surely adorable and magically blessed offspring off his umbilical cord, and now heart rate's nearly back to normal. Quinn's nearing the cool part where she yanks him out. We cannot miss that.” Her smile faded. “But, um, Kurt. He's not... They haven't been able to stabilize his blood pressure. They do have a crash cart ready if he...”

Blaine had scrambled to his feet, but he'd fallen against the wall as Santana updated him on his boys' conditions. She grabbed his shoulder hard, trying to pull him up.

“I'm just warning you, okay? It's not pretty in there. It's tense and Quinn's trying not to freak out about operating on her friend, but you can go in... Okay?” She frowned at Blaine's frozen, blank stare. “Hey,” she said sternly and using her Nurse Voice(tm), “this is completely out of your hands. There's nothing you can do but be there for him.”

“Them. I've got a them to look out for now, Santana.” His voice cracked, “I hope?”

“Don't give me that shit.” Santana wasn't about to let him get away with that kind of attitude. She dug her fingertips into his skin. “No way, you don't get to sit here and feel sorry for yourself while your other half is undergoing emergency surgery. You have more to worry about than yourself and Kurt, you've got to remember to stay strong for that kid you're about to bring into this crazy, uncontrollable world. Quit the waterworks and think about him 'cause all that damn crying ain't helping nobody. The news I just gave you? It was good news, so fuckin' act like it and let's go.”

Blaine's hands were shaking as he entered the OR suite. There was a slight dampness in-between his fingers from washing them minutes ago. He couldn't stand still as Santana and another nurse helped him into a gown and cap. He stopped walking, mouth falling open as Quinn lowered a scalpel deep into where Kurt had been cut wide open. Even though Kurt was unconscious, a divider had been set up to block the view of the procedure. Santana nudged Blaine, directing him straight to the metal stool that waited for him beside Kurt's upper body. A sigh rushed out of him as he took Kurt's limp hand. He dragged his fingers up and down the back of his hand, eventually pressing kisses along his cold knuckles. He got lost in Kurt's peaceful face, studying every detail he already knew to heart.

Quinn asked for a different instrument, sounding breathless. Blaine looked up in time to see her lift him out of Kurt. Him. Wrinkled, bald-headed Charles. He was tiny. Blaine couldn't breathe, couldn't take his eyes off the quiet infant in Dr. Fabray's arms. He bit into the inside of his lip, tasting blood. Come on, come on... A nurse immediately leaned over to suction the fluid out of his nose and mouth. Blaine gasped when he heard it, the small cry from his son. _There you are_.


	10. Chapter 10

EPILOGUE 

[xoxo]

Blaine had no idea how the weight he was currently cradling in his arms managed to feel so heavy and yet so light at the same time. He guessed 'the weight of having a son' and 'the weight of his son' were two very different things. Standing there in front of a floor-length window with the pastel curtains pulled aside, Blaine felt less like a new man and more like a different man. He thought maybe he wasn't the exact same Blaine he had been before he'd cut the umbilical cord. He was a father now; even the fit of his skin seemed... There was that word again. Different. Not a bad different, just... Different. 

He wasn't sure if he could ever put his son down again. Charles, in all his noisy glory, was perfect to him. Ten itsy-bitsy fingers and toes. Nineteen inches long, seven pounds and eight ounces. His hold on the red-faced newborn had been rigid at first, but Blaine's arms had molded comfortably around him once the baby had started to quiet down. Humming sweetly, he decided it wouldn't be fair to introduce the amazing little boy to anyone until Kurt was out of the recovery room and they had a chance to marvel over their son together. He craved for that precious, private moment. 

Things had gotten tense for Blaine after the nurses had taken Charles away for a while to bathe him and run screening tests. He'd stayed with Kurt until they had finished closing him up, his fingers sneaking under the loose surgical cap Kurt had been wearing to drag through his hair. Later, Quinn had come up behind him to settle her steady hand on his shoulder. Looking as if she had aged several years in the span of the surgery, she'd promised to make sure Charles would be back with him soon. 

“And Kurt?” he'd asked, wringing his hands in worry. Her smile had packed a punch to his gut; he'd choked out a sigh of relief over her repetitive reply of, “Soon.”

Swaddled in a soft blanket, Charles had been returned to him. His mittens-clad hands had twitched as he cried and cried until he had been cradled against his daddy's chest. Blaine was now rocking his baby, his hips swaying. He sang a soothing lullaby under his breath (and then he swore to Charles that he would never put him up in a treetop). He couldn't stop kissing his son's brow, couldn't stop giggling. 

“I'm a dad,” he whispered. “I'm your dad. Hi, son.” He sniffled, pacing around as the room gradually lit up from an early sunrise. “Wow. You are, you're perfect. You are perfect and you are loved, so loved.” He would remind him of that everyday for the rest of his life if he had to. “Your papa's going to be joining us real soon. Now, we're new at this. You're gonna have to be a little patient and cut us a break every now and then... Then again, you're pretty new yourself, fella. Maybe we can work together, hmm?”

Blaine jolted as the door behind him was slowly pushed open, his arms tightening protectively around a mewling Charlie. A nurse and two orderlies wheeled Kurt in on a hospital bed. Blaine backed away to give them room, his smiling lips only finding the baby's forehead again after an airy sigh had passed through them. 

“There he is,” Blaine said in a shakily hushed tone to Charles. “There's your papa.”

Kurt's eyelids fluttered before opening wide. He must've dozed off on the elevator ride. He lifted his head up, his mouth soundlessly forming frantic words. He tried to sit up, but the sluggish motion was halted by his nurse. She reminded him of his... Staples? He brought his hands down from his pale face to feel the thick mess of bandages and tape over his lower abdomen. He gasped, attempting once more to sit upright. The nurse tutted and pushed down gently on his trembling shoulders, throwing a concerned look at Blaine. 

“Here he is, Kurt.” Blaine rose his voice, trying to keep it steady even as his vision grew blurry. He would start bawling soon, he was sure. What mattered was that they were happy tears. Actually, if he was sure about anything? It was that he passed 'happy' seconds ago. That was too weak of a word to describe what he was feeling right now. He picked up his feet to take a few slow strides over to Kurt's bedside. “Here's our son.”

Kurt covered one hand over his slack mouth. The fingers on his other hand drew in towards his palm before flexing out. He blinked rapidly, staring at the fussy bundle in Blaine's arms. He tried to wet his lips, which made Blaine feel somewhat like a jerk because he couldn't bring him any water and hold up their cranky newborn at the same time. Rose, Kurt's red-headed nurse, noticed and said she'd go refill Kurt's dented water pitcher. She bent down to make eye contact with Kurt, asking if he needed anything else. 

“Can I see him?” he asked softly, if also a little hoarse.

Oh, goodness. Blaine could feel yet another round of pesky tears springing into action. He choked out a watery laugh. “Of course.” He nearly asked Kurt if he was ready to meet Charles. “Of course,” he repeated to himself with a shake of his head. He toed at the lever on the floor, adjusting the height of Kurt's bed. He leaned down and in as closely as he could, smiling as Kurt caught his first glimpse of the life they created together. 

“He's... He's handsome, Blaine. Look at that face.” It was of no surprise to Kurt that his newborn baby boy knew how to work his wrinkles. He couldn't stop glancing back to admire the baby's thick, long eyelashes. “Look at him, Blaine. He's so, so very handsome. My tiny, little handsome guy. Yeah, you are. See that? He's already reducing me to baby talk, my god. I wanna...” Kurt pushed up on his elbows, breathing heavily. “I've gotta, I've gotta hold him.”

“No, wait. Kurt, wait. You just, no. Kurt, stop, you can't... Here, I'll... Here.” Blaine gave Charles' back a light pat before he placed the infant down onto Kurt's chest. When one of his gloves fell off, all Blaine could do was wish for his body to grow a third arm. He would also accept a prehensile tail. “Here he is, baby. Here's your papa. You go easy on him, 'k? He's gone through a lot for you, ya troublemaker.”

Kurt craned his neck until he could press a delicate kiss to the top of Charles' head. “He's bald.”

Blaine grinned, swooping down for a quick kiss from Kurt. “We won't hold it against him.”

“I...” Kurt bit into his bottom lip. Slowly, he trailed his restless fingertips down his son's back. “I don't know... What happened?” He stared down his nose at the quiet baby, his eyes crossing slightly. “I have a baby,” he stated calmly as he tried to budge the tip of his index finger into Charles' tight fist. “And staples.”

A bruise forming where Burt had griped his bicep to keep Blaine from collapsing onto the floor after the fit he'd had because they'd whisked Kurt away throbbed. “You had to have a c-section, Kurt.”

Kurt's gaze lifted up to meet Blaine's for only a brief moment. “And he's okay now?”

“He's okay now,” Blaine promised. He rested a hand over Kurt's where it had stilled to lie over the center of their son's back. “I mean, he did give us a scare. But so did—hey, he is okay. Better than okay, even. His Apgar score was a perfect ten once they gave him a few minutes to adjust and re-calculated it.” Charles had originally gotten points deducted for his irregular breathing and delayed response to stimulation. It'd been scary in an indescribable way Blaine wished to never feel again. Part of him was glad Kurt hadn't been conscious to witness it. “He passed all his tests with flying colors. I swear to you, Kurt, he's... Don't, don't cry.”

“There's a baby on my chest, Blaine. I can't not cry.” Charles, who hadn't made much more than a peep in almost two minutes, started to cry along with his emotional papa. “Oh, no. Not you too, sweetheart. Fine, join me if you must.”

“Oh, he must. 'He must' a lot so far.”

Rose re-entered with the water and a handful of colorful pamphlets. “I bet he's hungry. Did you want to try feeding him now? We were able to supplement with formula to hold him over, but I bet he'll take whatever you can give him.”

Kurt looked stricken, his face frozen. Blaine had caught the flash of panic in his wide eyes. He could tell Kurt was still groggy from surgery. 

“You feeling up to it, honey?” He wasn't expecting Kurt's hesitant nod.

“I think so.” Kurt scrunched his brow. “I don't feel too awful considering I was split in half. That's not gonna last, huh?” Rose could only grimace in sympathy as she poured him a cup of water. “What about the nausea? When do I get to go back to not throwing up on a regular basis?” He stopped in the middle of another complaint. “Can I... I need... More. Can I hold him? Like, actually hold him? Not just let him lounge and squeal on me. Shh, Charlie. I want to sit up and hold my baby.”

Blaine smiled broadly; really, he couldn't blame Kurt for wanting some cuddles from their boy. “Here,” he offered. He picked his son up with a gentle ease. Their baby's cries grew, in Blaine's opinion, angry. “It's okay, neither of you are going anywhere. He's right here, kiddo.”

Kurt's lips were pressed into a tight line, although a hiss managed to escape during a wince. He whimpered, a tired groan easing its way out next. He tried to listen to Rose's instructions and warnings, but all he wanted to do was fold both hands over his incision and whine. His abdominal muscles weren't ready to help him sit up; the uncomfortable tug he'd felt from trying had bothered him too much. His stomach rolled, the nausea worsening from how the dull ache penetrated through him deeper. Slowly, with Rose's hands guiding him, he was able to roll onto his side. 

“Yeah, I think this is going to be the best position for you right now if you don't want to lie on your back.” The nurse tucked an extra pillow under his head and one between his knees. “How's that?”

Kurt's response was to stretch his arms out and make grabby hands at his baby. Blaine pouted, pretending to look around the room.

“Oh, is there something you want?” He squinted his eyes, his eyebrows shooting up playfully. “Or is there someone you want?” Blaine hitched his shoulders up, crooning nonsensically to the infant as he kissed Charles' tiny fist. “What?”

Rose snickered, working the back of Kurt's gown open. “He's a bold one.”

“Sorry, what?” Blaine repeated with a tilt of his head, giving them a flash of his most charming smile. He shrugged, amused by Kurt's unimpressed glare. “I keep getting lost in these blue eyes.”

“It's true,” Kurt uttered through a sigh. “He's a sucker for blue eyes.”

“Oh my, Charlie. You are too tiny of a person to be making such loud, loud noises. There, there.” Blaine glanced up quickly, trying not to notice the exasperated look on Kurt's face that screamed what a freakin' baby hog. Blaine couldn't deny that. “You, little sir, are seven pounds of fury. I think he misses his warm, quiet haven.” He also thought that maybe Charlie didn't realize he was the one making all the racket. 

Rose looked down at her patient. “He's pretty good at stalling.”

Kurt grunted, knowing all too well about that. “He certainly is,” he agreed with a fond smile while snapping his fingers impatiently. “Blaine, if I may? I would very much like to get this... Part over with already.” He touched his forehead. “And I—I don't have m—much strength left—” (Kurt elbowed Rose as she reached out hastily for the blood pressure monitor). “—after birthing your child.”

Blaine scoffed, his mouth hanging open. “Your papa sure knows how to play me like a fiddle.”

Kurt chuckled, pleased with himself. “He certainly does.”

Needing Kurt's full attention for what they were about to do, Rose walked around to the other side of the bed to stand in front of Kurt and next to Blaine and Charles. She talked quickly, her long-winded explanations only circling the drain that was Kurt's foggy mind.

Kurt's eyebrows were drawn together as he accepted the baby from Blaine, who kept nodding reassuringly at him. His sudden timidness made Blaine want to gather the two of them into a embrace. Quiet and unsure, Kurt tilted his head as Rose corrected his side-lying hold on Charles and showed him where to put his hands. He was calm up until Charlie's first attempt at latching. He squeaked, suddenly flustered with watery eyes. 

Blaine wanted to help. He knew there wasn't much he could do. The past several hours had taught him that. Kurt's frantic eyes couldn't decide whether to settle on him or their son. The tightness in his chest refused to lessen, his heart aching for how overwhelmed Kurt looked. “If you want, I can—” He paused, hoping either Kurt or the fellow nurse would finish his sentence for him. 

“No, Blaine, just... Don't you... Can't you... Maybe you should, ah, or could you please...” Kurt shut his eyes, wincing when Charles started up with the crying again. 

“You know,” Rose butted in (much to their relief). “I don't think your horde of friends and family have gotten any updates since we told them Kurt and the baby made it out of surgery.” Kurt frowned, peeking his eyes open. “I bet they'd like to see and hear from you about now.” She added a hopeful, “Right?”

“I...” If Kurt didn't want an audience for his first time breastfeeding, couldn't Blaine just go hide out in the bathroom? He didn't want to leave, not again. He shuffled his feet, staying stubbornly in place. “I don't know. Kurt?”

“My dad hasn't seen him yet?”

“Uh, no. Gosh, Kurt, I've kind of really neglected them. I'm sorry, I was so worried about you and Charlie. My mind is completely scattered, I'm so sorry.” Once again, Blaine felt like a big jerk 'cause, honestly, he hadn't thought about any of them out there, waiting to hear the specifics about how Kurt and the baby were doing after an unscheduled c-section. Charles' presence alone had greedily gobbled up all of his attention span, whoops. He tried to feel at least a little guilty, but he wasn't really in control of his emotions at the moment. He had so many wonderful feelings soaring through him, keeping him awake and adequately alert when all his mind wanted to do was crash. 

“I'm sorry, I... I need a few minutes with this, I'm... I'm also really, completely scattered.” Shattered seemed more like it. His hands were shaking where he was supporting Charles against his bare chest. “Do you have any pictures to show them? You can't go out there without any pictures.”

“Quinn and I took a bunch, yeah.” Blaine's cheeks hurt from smiling like a goofball. He couldn't wait to pick out a nice head shot of Charlie to send out in a mass text. Gosh, it was going to be hard to pick out just one. Several, maybe. The battery would probably die before all the picture texts were sent out to everyone on his contacts list. “I'll let 'em know they can have a meet and greet in a little bit, okay?”

Kurt nodded, mouthing the word “okay” before speaking it out loud. Blaine resisted the urge to hop onto the bed and curl around them. He hoped to get to that once he crossed a few things off his 'to do' list. He purposely caught Rose's eye.

“You're not going anywhere, right? I mean, you'll be right here? With him, the entire time?” He had to make sure, absolutely had to. 

“I swear I won't move from this spot until you get back. Go pass out your cigars, dad.” She flicked her wrist at him. “Seriously, they're both doing great. Your baby's all pink and healthy and loud, and Kurt's blood pressure has finally stabilized. You can celebrate now.”

Blaine brushed his hands together. “Okay, okay. Wait, let me...” He gave his fiancé and son a kiss. “Enjoy,” he whispered to Charlie. Blaine flung his body away, cackling at Kurt's delayed gasp.

“Blaine Devon!”

Kurt's happy laugh was a much-needed rush for Blaine. A toe-tapping burst of joy rippled through him. A real, unadulterated joy he could let himself feel and revel in. He sprinted down the corridor, the loose waist ties to the protective gown he still wore flapping behind him. He stopped short of the entry to the waiting room, his fists held over his mouth. Slowly, but then all at once, he sprung forward. Blaine stumbled as he made a beeline for Burt, who was the only one standing.

“Blaine?” Burt reeled him in with a hard grip on his shoulder. Next to him, Carole rose out of her seat. The crossword puzzle book that had been on her lap slipped into the narrow space between the armchairs. Blaine made an unintelligible noise, to which Burt responded by warily repeating Blaine's name. 

Blaine echoed Rose's earlier words by rushing out a gleeful, “They're both doing great. Oh, god. God, Burt, you're gonna—” 

Burt pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug. He placed his other hand on top of Blaine's head, his chest heaving on a deep breath. Carole put her hand on his back, tears already streaming down her rosy cheeks.

“Well?” Tina piped up excitedly, “Go on.” Blaine gave a few slow blinks before his eyes opened wide. He hadn't known Tina and Mike were there, the both of them sitting with Finn and Rachel. Upon noticing Rachel, Blaine checked his wristwatch for the time. He couldn't believe Kurt had spent the better part of twenty-four hours plus in labor. No wonder the air was so thick, why everyone looked fatigued with worry. They all got up to crowd around him.

“Yes, what's my godson like?” Blaine sputtered at Rachel's question, confused about where she had gotten 'godson' from. She panicked, seeming to take his reaction as something else. “What? You said they were—”

He talked over her, too jittery to show off his son. “You guys, he's amazing. I can't believe he's mine. Um, ours. Kurt's, um, he's a little busy with Charlie right now, but I—I brought... I have, here.” He fumbled for his cellphone, amused by yet another attack of the giggles. “Here he is, ladies and gentlemen. My little man.” 

Tina squealed the loudest. She swatted at Mike, who tucked an arm around her shoulders to keep her grounded. “Oh my gosh, he has a chin dimple! He's the cutest, Blaine.” 

Mike gave Blaine a fist bump. “Congratulations, man.” 

“Dang,” Finn drawled. He squinted at the too-small picture of his newborn nephew. Okay, was it him or did the baby look seriously pissed off? “Those Hummel genes are strong.”

Burt took the phone from Blaine, his stiff fingers gliding across the screen as he tried to zoom in on his grandson's face. He stayed quiet for a long moment before uttering a soft, “Yeah.” He nodded his head, sharing a smile with Carole. “Yeah, he looks just like Kurt when he was born.” His voice grew gruff. “Of course, it's difficult to tell by only a picture.”

Blaine gave him one hell of a cheeky grin. “There's video, too.” He laughed under Burt's glare (the old Blaine never would have laughed in the face of danger). “Soon, grandpa. He's well worth the wait.” He didn't even try to hold back any tears. “He really is.” Blaine had only been away from Charles for a couple of minutes and he already missed him. 

“Oh, honey.” Carole stroked his arm while Tina hugged him from behind. “Why do I feel like there's going to be a line just to get into the line to hold him?”

“Don't worry, Carole. Grandparents get to cut to the front of the line.”

“As often as they'd like,” Burt amended sternly. 

Carole gave Blaine's elbow a pat. “You just missed Wes and your mom. He took a cab with her to pick your father up from the airport.” 

“My dad? Really?” Blaine would later learn about how his father had canceled a week of meetings after finding out from Burt about the sudden rise of complications during Kurt's labor.

“Hey,” Mike spoke up. “Am I the only one surprised to see that the baby wasn't born with a pompadour?” 

“Well, I didn't want to say anything.” Rachel held her hand up at Blaine. “Not that Charles' absurb baldness affects our love for him in any way, Blaine.”

Burt grunted, frowning. “Quit pickin' on my grandson. He can't help what the top of his head does or doesn't want to do.”

Blaine glanced off to the side, not really listening to what anyone else had to say past the hearty congratulations. “On that note,” he stated flatly. “I need to get back to them, Kurt and Charlie.” He brought both of his hands up to his neck as if he were straightening an imaginary bowtie. He rose his chin up, proud. “Charlie,” he gushed, “my son.”

Before he could turn away, Finn pounced on him. “Could you maybe...?” Finn scratched the back of his head, hesitantly offering Blaine a crooked smile. “Could you give Kurt a hug for me?”

“And me,” Rachel cut in. “And please let Kurt know I skipped out on nearly all of the many after-parties to be here.” Judging by her tone, Blaine wondered if Rachel was expecting a sincere apology from Charles for his 'decision' to be born on the opening night of her play. 

Carole shook her head at her daughter-in-law. “For all of us,” she said to Blaine. “We will all be out here... Still... When they're ready for us, dear.”

On his way back to Kurt's room, Blaine happened to notice how many unread text messages were on his phone. “One hundred eighty-eight?” He gaped, confused and astounded until he saw why. Wes had sent out a group message to all Dalton alumni about Charles' early arrival.

From Wes: _Listen up, everyone! Just got a text from Blaine. The newest, littlest Warbler is almost here. Will update as more information becomes available, of course._  
From Thad: _tbh I didn't even know Blaine was pregnant_  
From Thad: _lol j/k congrats to k+b_  
From David: _Does anyone know the weight/length/vocal range of baby Hummel-Anderson yet? I want to add it to next month's newsletter._  
From Jeff: _c'mon now, pics or it didn't happen_  
From Jeff: _and I think it's Anderson-Hummel. That's what it said on the wedding invites._  
From Wes: _I think it's just Hummel. That's how he signed a receipt when we went out for lunch last week._  
From Thad: _aww, our Blaine the traditionalist_  
From Jeff: _wtf they're not even married yet._  
From Nick: _Blaine would, tho_  
From Nick: _wait, LUNCH???? oic_  
From Wes: _Let's not start this /again/, Nick._  
From Jeff: _Yeah, Nick, YOU are the odd one out who chose the west coast._  
From Thad: _lol the west coast_  
From David: _No one cares about the west coast, Nick._  
From James: _Congratulations, Kurt and Blaine!_

The conversation went on and on. Rolling his eyes, he responded to everyone with a picture of Charles. 

From David: _Good job you guys did there, Blaine!_  
From Nick: _Is it just me or is he throwing up gang signs?_  
From Thad: _lol he's bald_

[xoxo]

Kurt hurt. His insides throbbed against several layers of stitches and staples, feeling like they could somehow spill out. He smiled through the pain and his tears, focusing on the content expression on Charles' face as he suckled on the tip of Kurt's finger. He mouthed cutesy endearments at his son, hoping Blaine's heavy snoring wouldn't set Charles off. It had taken the infant a while to calm down after the major meltdown he'd had while being passed around from relative to relative and from friend to friend. Charles' shrill cries had upset Kurt enough for Blaine to politely kick everyone out. Once the room was quiet and they were alone, Blaine had conked out in the recliner across from Kurt's hospital bed. 

The nurses were constantly coming in and out of the room to check on Kurt, his war wound, and his darling baby. He lifted his head up to shush them each and every time he heard them bustle about around him, nodding at his sleeping fiancé. That was some well-deserved sleep right there. Kurt was grateful for Charles' own sleepiness; the newborn himself looked ready to doze off. He extended his neck out until he could lie his lips across Charles' soft cheek, wanting to concentrate on the bundle of warmth in his hands instead of the hot pain in his abdomen. His mind floated away, his aching body weighed down with fatigue. As much as he physically craved rest, Kurt couldn't bear to part with his and Blaine's sweet little guy. 

Kurt happened to glance up to find Blaine gazing adoringly at him with a toothy smile on his tired face. He was still reclined in the chair, his head tipped uncomfortably to the side.

“What a beautiful sight,” he remarked in awe. Blaine arched his back, yawning as he kneaded the thick muscle where his neck and shoulder met. “He's something else, isn't he? Gosh, Kurt, you... You are, too.”

Kurt looked down to their son. He licked his lips to wet them before drawing in a slow breath. “Charles,” he said on an exhale. “He has your eyes.”

Blaine pushed out of the chair, his face scrunched up. “You think so?” he asked, chuckling at Kurt's harrumph. 

“Oh, I know so.” There was something about the shape of Charles' eyes that reminded Kurt of Blaine. “Could you hand me a tissue? The drool, it kind of doesn't stop.” Kurt then gasped. “Blaine, look. He fell asleep,” he whispered. “He's sleeping, Blaine. Look at him, he's... Have you ever seen anything so cute?”

“I need to grab my camera,” Blaine squeaked. Kurt nodded eagerly at him. Blaine danced around to the other side of the bed, where he stayed quiet a he lowered the handrail. He hopped up to kneel behind Kurt, the fronts of his thighs pressed into Kurt's back as he leaned forward with his digital camera. Once he snapped a few pictures of their son, he settled down gently and stretched out behind Kurt. He kissed Kurt's shoulder, reaching over him to grasp his hand over Kurt's forearm. “Guinness World Records should be contacting us soon. We had to have broken some kind of record with Charlie. He's the cutest, sweetest, most precious...”

“Not that you're wrong, but I think we're slightly biased on the perfection that is Charles Hummel.” Kurt turned his head for a proper kiss on the mouth. Blaine rewarded him with one, smiling against Kurt's pursed lips. 

“Can I hold him now?”

“Um, no. My turn isn't over yet.”

Blaine almost couldn't believe his years. “Oh, yeah? And when is your 'turn' over?”

“When he's eighteen, maybe. Oh, god. One day, he's going to be a teenager. Can you imagine us with a teenager?” Kurt already wanted Charles to stay tiny and in his arms forever. As long as he was asleep the entire time, though. The kid had quite a set of lungs on him. 

“We're going to be the most embarrassing parents ever. I can't wait.” He huffed a laugh into Kurt's neck. He tugged at Kurt's gown and pecked another kiss to his shoulder, restless. 

“You don't have to wait too long, babe. Look what I've got here.”

Blaine rested his chin on Kurt's shoulder, peering down at Charles. Kurt's hands and arms had to be stiff from holding the baby in a still side-lying hold for so long. Blaine was sure Kurt would pass him back to his daddy soon. He was eager for Charlie to wake up from his nap so that he could rock him again and maybe try singing to him (which would probably make him cry some more because Charles absolutely did not seem fond of people singing into his face or around it). 

“Look what we've got here,” Blaine echoed in a small voice. He touched the side of Charles' face, his breath catching in his chest as he let out a sigh. Once again, he felt overwhelmed by the swell of different feelings rushing through him. It was scary and there was doubt, but Blaine just stared down in silence at their little boy. After many stressful months, Charles was with them and alive and well. There was also excitement and gratitude. “I can do this,” Blaine uttered out loud without meaning to.

When Kurt spoke up, he sounded confident and proud. “We,” he stated in a strong, steady tone, “can do this.”

Blaine knew he was right. He continued to know so even after Charles woke up and immediately started to bawl. 

We can do this, Blaine chanted to himself over and over. Not just him and Kurt with the parenting, but the three of them. Him, Kurt, and Charlie. The three of them, as a family, they could do it.

Blaine knew he was right.

[xoxo]


End file.
